tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72028047435123321372024-03-19T06:04:46.835-07:00Preston Copeland: RighteousIndignationIf you want something done, write it yourself.
I'm a Folklorist, Author, and Article writer. I've got everything from creative writing to philosophy of science. I discuss life as a novelist and musician. I may even get into recipes now and again. Who knows? There's no telling what goes on in my head on any given day. http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.comBlogger210125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-75420110245308487612023-05-03T12:39:00.000-07:002023-05-03T12:39:39.057-07:00Hank finds Lamia<p> The house would have appeared abandoned if not for the meticulously maintained lawn and rose bushes. A mass of shabby roof tiles and flaked paint were surrounded by thick bunches of roses lining the driveway and perimeter of the lawn. Hank stood at the door, suddenly unsure of himself. He hadn’t seen or spoken to Deanna Montgomery since her daughter had been revealed to be Lamia<i>. ‘A child killer. An eater of children. A horrible fucking monster.’ </i>He rapped twice, staring at his shoes. When the door groaned open and a sty of unkempt, graying blond hair and distrusting blue eyes peeked out, he did the most natural thing he could think of. Hank held out a cigarette. </p><p>“Gotta minute?”</p><p>Deanna smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. She opened the screen door and stepped out. She had lost weight since he’d seen her almost two months prior. It appeared she’d let makeup and maybe even showering lapse as well. </p><p>“Not a good time,” she said. “I don’t know what to say.”</p><p>“Neither do I. I’m sorry for not coming by sooner if it makes a difference.”</p><p>“There was nothing to say.”</p><p>“Yes there was.”</p><p>“What? Sorry but your daughter is never coming home and by the way, she’s a killer of little babies!”</p><p>Hank recoiled. The remark had meant to be sarcastic but punched with horrible sadness. He felt a tightness in his jaw. Deanna bent to a small love seat and plucked a lighter off the cushion. She lit her cigarette then held out the flame so Hank could light his own. Their eyes met as he puffed the cherry to life. </p><p>“Has she come home?”</p><p>“I just said no.”</p><p>“Are you lying?”</p><p>“Why would she come home? She knows the police are looking for her. She knows what she did.”</p><p>“She has to sleep somewhere. Stephanie hasn’t reached out at all?”</p><p>Deanna’s eyes glazed for a beat. As if something occurred to her that she’d rather not remember.</p><p>“Maybe you should check the sewers. Wasn’t that where you found her anyway?”</p><p>Hank took a long drag of the cigarette. He turned his head and dry hacked into the back of his hand. “Where did she go after that night?” He asked. </p><p>“What night?”</p><p>“The night we brought her here!” He all but screamed. Deanna fumbled back involuntarily, her hands jerked in small tremors. </p><p>“She talked with the police for a few minutes then told them she’d go get a check-up at the Emergency Care. She was tired and wet and filthy! The cops took her at her word! They thought she was the victim! How were we supposed to know?”</p><p>“Hecate knew.”</p><p>“That lying bitch. I’ll kill her if she comes around here again. Is that how you found out?”</p><p>“About Lamia?”</p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>There was a loud pop inside the house like popcorn being cooked on the stove. Hank nodded, trying to be tactful. </p><p>“Hecate gleaned the truth the same time we did. In fact, I’m betting she put it together in the sewer. I saw her face down there. She didn’t know Stephanie and Lamia were one and the same.”</p><p>“That’s horseshit! How could she have not known?”</p><p>“Don’t forget that it was you and she that came down to my office last year. Stephie was missing. You’re telling me Hecate knew then? She didn’t have a clue.”</p><p>“Then she figured it out along the way,” She scoffed. “They were in on it together. For god’s sake, Dolan, they planned her own disappearance!”</p><p>“You’re right,” Hank said softly. “But her vanishing wasn’t because of her crimes. They were hiding from somebody. I just don’t know who. It was Hecate that had her hidden away. That explains her shock.”</p><p>“Her shock. Then how do you know that whoever they’re hiding from isn’t the child killer?”</p><p>Hank paused. Deanna had spat out a real possibility. He needed time to process who Hecate would be terrified of. His mind flashed to Apollo. It had been months since he’d last been seen. He startled as a shuffling scrape somewhere in the kitchen or perhaps the dining room caused Deanna to glance back hesitantly. </p><p>“Do you have company?”</p><p>A light inside, just past the hallway switched off. Hank got the sudden urge to urinate. A deep, unsettling pit settled in his bowels.</p><p>“Deanna?”</p><p>“No, it’s nothing. Probably the cat.”</p><p>She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Her hands shook now with each drag. She followed as Hank stepped inside. </p><p>“Wait just a goddamn minute, Hank.”</p><p>He glanced into the kitchen, his eyes surveying the washer and dryer in the corner and broken dining room table in the middle of the eating area. He walked up the stairs. When he reached the second floor, he noticed all the blinds were shut. Behind him, Deanna gurgled out a string of obscenities. He stepped into the bathroom and turned on the light. There were stains in the toilet bowl and he caught the odor of urine. Behind him, in a bedroom across the hall, a low rustling was barely audible.</p><p>“Did you get a dog?”</p><p>“I told you I have a cat!” Deanna shot back dripping with sarcasm. </p><p>Hank pushed past her and tried the door. It was locked. <i>‘She’s here</i>’. </p><p>Hank grabbed Deanna by the hair and pulled her back onto the porch. She thrashed cursing him in the most colorful of ways. He reached into his waist band for his weapon. The cold steel was a comfort but barely. </p><p>“She’s inside the house, Deanna.”</p><p>Deanna whispered, clearly frightened. “She came just after.”</p><p>“Stay out here.”</p><p>“She doesn’t sleep.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“She’s been here thirty six days. She hasn’t slept in that time. I’ve been here, Hank. She doesn’t sleep. Ever.”</p><p>“Alright, go to the police station and ask for Ackermann. I’ll come when I have her.”</p><p>“And the stench. The odor is death.” Her eyes were faraway now, a mixture of awful dread and hopelessness. </p><p>He turned back to the screen door and shut it in her face. He glanced back down the hallway. It was probably ten feet from the hall to the staircase. He knew Lamia was on the second floor or attic if Deanna had one. He took one step, then another, the weight in his legs like iron. He walked through the living room and kitchen then back up the stairs. He tried the bedroom door. And it was unlocked. For a long second, he was uncomprehending. He stood dumbly as the door creaked open a few inches. No light came from the other side. Behind him, he heard Deanna shrieking something. </p><p>“Lamia!” He shouted. </p><p>He craned his neck to listen. Nothing. Only goddamn Deanna and her bellowing. He pushed the door open and groped for a light switch. When he flicked it and heard the bulb pop, the pit in his stomach reached all the way to the floor. He turned back to Deanna and a blur rushed forward from the back of the hall. Hank hadn’t time to so much as scream before Stephanie threw her weight into him. He was weightless for a frightful few seconds. When his back struck the stairs he bounced like a rag doll upside down. Hank was sure the next sickening crack would be his neck. A piercing pain lanced up his hip and shoulder blade. He came down hard on his elbow, his head banging the bottom step. His vision was filled with tiny white spots. He heard Deanna gasp and the knock knocking of feet bounding down the stairs. The screen door slammed open. Hank lifted his head. He got to his knees, fighting back nausea and jabbing pain in his back and hips. He crawled outside and looked up the driveway to see Stephanie pointing his glock at him. Her eyes were sunken and steely. She had cut her hair short, almost boyish since the sewers.</p><p>“Lamia!” </p><p>Deanna stumbled outside and opened her arms wide. “Stephanie, honey! Come back inside.”</p><p>Hank got to his feet. “That’s not her goddamn name,” he spat. </p><p>Lamia spared him a glance. Then she pulled the trigger. Hank flinched but there was no bang. No parts of him being blown off in bits and blood. ‘<i>She doesn’t know about the safety!</i>’ He sprinted forward, praying that Lamia didn’t disengage the safety latch before he could reach her. When he got within ten paces, Lamia dropped the weapon and raced up the sidewalk. Hank stumbled to his sedan. He threw the keys into the ignition and jolted forward. It was too late. Lamia had cut across the street, ram to the back of a neighbor’s house and jumped a fence. Hank sped through an intersection, narrowly missing another small car, made a sharp right then slowed on the next block. He spied each yard looking for her in the bushes and shadows. Then his car door flew open. <i>‘Oh shit.’</i> Lamia’s wrist flicked out three times, a short blade cutting his left fist, ribs, and shoulder. Hank lashed out, backhanding her on the side of the head. The sedan lurched to a stop. </p><p>“They’re mine!” She hissed. </p><p>Hank rolled out of the car and struck the pavement. The pain in his back had stretched to his neck and he noticed warm wetness on his side. The blood wasn’t gushing. <i>‘They’re superficial,’</i> he thought. <i>‘It was probably a pocket knife or kitchen utensil.’</i> He vomited onto the curb and was further sickened to see Lamia hovering above him, still within striking range.</p><p>“Why eat them?” He shouted. “Why on earth would you eat them?”</p><p>She smiled a grimace. “For Hera.”</p><p>“Hera?”</p><p>The smile dropped away. “Hera.”</p><p>“You’re an insufferable, evil bitch,” he croaked. </p><p>Lamia squinted at him, as if trying to focus her eyes. She licked her lips. It caused Han’s stomach to hurt. He felt gorged, or the onset of food poisoning. He stared at the road, the concrete was hot. It shimmered under the sun. He thought he might vomit again. He looked back at Lamia. Her eyes were dead as they stared back at him. And he saw triumph. There was a wailing up the street and Hank squinted to see Deanna lumbering towards them. Lamia sneered, a low, inaudible mumble escaping her. She looked back at Hank for a split second then sprinted down the sidewalk. Hank put his head down and groaned loudly. </p><div><br /></div>http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-1639586813456788832021-10-07T13:41:00.000-07:002021-10-07T13:41:18.260-07:00Lamia <p> The house would have appeared abandoned if not for the meticulously maintained lawn and rose bushes. It looked polluted and sunken into the ground. A mess of shabby roof tiles and flaked paint was lined with soggy rain gutters. Hank stared at the door, suddenly unsure of himself. He hadn't spoken to Deanna Montgomery since it had been revealed that her daughter was the Descended Lamia. A child killer. And worse. <i>A horrible fucking monster.</i> He rapped twice, staring at his shoes. When the door groaned open and distrusting gray eyes peered out, he did the most natural thing he could think of. Hank held out a cigarette.</p><p>"Gotta minute?"</p><p>Deanna smiled through a grimace. She opened the screen door and stepped out. Hank took a tentative look at her. She had lost weight since he'd seen her last. Her dark, sunken eyes sat back in her skull. Hank caught a smell, not exactly body odor but something that caused him to glance inside. She followed his gaze, squinting. </p><p>"Not a good time," she said. "I don't know what to say."</p><p>"Nor do I. I'm sorry for not coming by sooner if it makes any difference."</p><p>"There was nothing to say."</p><p>"Yes, there was."</p><p>"What? Sorry but not only is your daughter never coming home but she's a killer of little babies?"</p><p>Hank recoiled. The remark had meant to be sarcastic but was punched with horrible sadness. He felt a tightness in his jaw. Deanna bent to a small love seat and plucked a lighter off the cushion. She lit her cigarette then held out the match so Hank could light his own. Their eyes met as he puffed the cherry to life</p><p>"Has she come home?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Are you lying?"</p><p>"Why would she come home? She knows the police are looking for her. She knows what she did."</p><p>"She has to sleep somewhere. Stephanie hasn't reached out at all?"</p><p>"Maybe you should check the sewers. Wasn't that where you found her anyway?"</p><p>"Where did she go after that night?"</p><p>"What night?"</p><p>"The night we brought her home!" He all but screamed. </p><p>Deanna fumbled a drag from her cigarette. Her hands were greasy and trembled. </p><p>"She talked with the police for a few minutes then said she'd go get a check-up at the hospital the following morning! She was tired and wet and filthy! They took her at her word. After all, she wasn't accused of anything! She was a missing teenager! How were we supposed to know?"</p><p>"Hecate knew."</p><p>"That lying bitch. It's all her fault. Is that how you found out?"</p><p>"About Lamia?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>Hank nodded. There was a loud pop inside like popcorn being cooked on a stove. Hank glanced around Deanna's shoulder.</p><p>"I'm cooking," she mumbled.</p><p>"Hecate gleaned the truth of Stephanie the same time we did. In fact, I'm betting she put it together before. I saw her face down there. She was terrified of Stephanie."</p><p>"That's horseshit! How could she have not known?"</p><p>"I don't think she had a clue as to what Stephanie was doing with the children."</p><p>"They were in on it together, Hank! They planned her disappearance!"</p><p>"You're right. The<i> abduction </i>was fabricated. I still don't know why and Hecate hasn't said. I think they were hiding from somebody. But the other stuff, no, she was appalled in the sewers. She was genuinely scared."</p><p>"Are you saying the Descendant bitch feels betrayed? I'm her mother! How do you think it sits with me?" </p><p>A shuffling sound behind her caused her to move in front of the screen door. Hank frowned. </p><p>"Do you have company?" </p><p>A light inside, just past the hallway flickered twice. Hank got the sudden urge to urinate. A deep, unsettling pit settled in his bowels. </p><p>"Deanna?" </p><p>"No, it's nothing. Probably the cat."</p><p>She wouldn't meet his eyes. Her hands shook now with each drag. Hank stepped around her and opened the screen door. When he got inside, the stench was more pronounced. It was like rotten meat. Hank took the steps two at a time until he reached the second floor. The wood creaked under his weight. He noticed the windows had all the blinds shut. Trace amounts of light peeked out from underneath. Another creak came from his left and he squinted towards the bathroom. The light was off. the door partially closed. He stepped in and checked behind the shower curtain. Nothing. There was a rustling from a bedroom in front of him and he swore there was a low, guttural growl from inside.</p><p>"Did you get a dog?"</p><p>Deanna didn't answer. He looked down the stairs and she stood transfixed, staring at him with mouth ajar. She looked like she was in the middle of shrieking yet no sound came from her. </p><p><i>Oh my god, she's here.</i></p><p>Hank swung the laundry room door wide while reaching into his waistband for his weapon. The cold steel was a comfort but barely. He turned towards a second bedroom at his right, peering in and checking underneath the bed. Deanna was cursing and shouted something but Hank barely heard her.</p><p>"Lamia!" </p><p>A loud bang caused him to lunge forward. Then an eerie silence save for the dripping of a bathroom faucet caused the hair on his arms to stand up. He turned his head for only a second just as a blur rushed forward from the back of the hall. Hank hadn't time to so much as scream before Lamia threw her body into him. He was weightless for a frightful few seconds. When his back struck the stairs and he bounced like a ragdoll upside down, he thought he would die. Hank was sure the next sickening crack would be his neck. A piercing pain lanced up his hip and shoulderblade. He came down hard on his elbow, his head banging the bottom step. His vision blurred but he heard Deanna gasp and the knock knocking of Lamia's feet as she bounded down the stairs. The screen door slammed open. </p><p>Hank lifted his head, got to his knees. There was jabbing pain in his back and hips. Deanna screamed something else as he stumbled up and all but fell outside. He looked up the driveway to see Lamia pointing his Glock at him. Her eyes were glassy and faraway. She had cut her hair short almost boyish. Her face looked the same except thinner. </p><p>"Stephie!" Deanna screamed.</p><p>Lamia spared her a glance. Then she pulled the trigger. Hank flinched but there was no bang. There were no parts of him being blown off into bits and blood. He got to his feet.<i> It's the safety! She doesn't know about the safety!</i> He bounded up the drive, praying that Lamia didn't disengage the safety latch before he could reach her. When he got within ten paces, Lamia dropped the weapon and raced up the sidewalk. Hank stumbled to his sedan, threw the keys into the ignition, and jolted forward. It was too late. Lamia had cut across the street, ran to the back of a neighbor's house, and jumped the fence. Hank sped to the intersection, made a sharp right then slowed on the next block. There was no sign of her. He rolled the car to a stop and leaned forward against the steering wheel. The throbbing in his lower back was relentless and he grimaced as he pulled the emergency brake and got out. As he dialed the police, he bent and vomited into the gutter.</p><p><br /></p>http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-3811203563866005062021-05-31T15:17:00.000-07:002021-05-31T15:17:46.027-07:00Introducing Arcadia's End<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5bAc6Xa8620I-gGhHWVK_ybDeRmy8KU_JL4-hLEAzQsJjrGTTm8e7FwzmtUjgrsDP9cXTpWq5QZbXdWtEHY9D00-HF6HtFnQLWwSYLbv7xz_dN7RDD1QhWjdg6B18TarO-gbxr8nlMQc/s244/Chaac+pic+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="244" data-original-width="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5bAc6Xa8620I-gGhHWVK_ybDeRmy8KU_JL4-hLEAzQsJjrGTTm8e7FwzmtUjgrsDP9cXTpWq5QZbXdWtEHY9D00-HF6HtFnQLWwSYLbv7xz_dN7RDD1QhWjdg6B18TarO-gbxr8nlMQc/s0/Chaac+pic+1.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p>Hank entered the dusty bedroom to find a scene of chaos. Straight ahead of him, a woman lay choking, her laborious breathing raspy. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, heard the crackling of each gasp. The air around her quickened, warning of the suffocation that was imminent.</p><p><i>What in the fresh hell is this,</i> He thought. </p><p>"How long has she been sick?"</p><p>It was obvious the woman was seriously ill. A cancer patient or maybe tuberculosis. </p><p>"Watch her very closely," Rodrigo said next to him. He had approached Hank at his office two days ago, begging for help from the private investigator 'who used to be a cop'. Of Hispanic descent, the young man was barely out of his teens yet hard labor had already lined his face and calloused his hands. Or maybe it was the stress. Hank knew about the stress. The past year had been nothing but one trouble after another. </p><p>"Watch," Rodrigo whispered.</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"It's being cut as we speak!" Rodrigo nearly screamed.</p><p>Hank studied her more closely. The dark bags under her sunken sockets gave the impression of being beaten. An observation that wasn't without credibility, he knew. He had noticed the bruising on her arms as soon as he entered. Rodrigo looked away quickly, a wry expression on his face. Suddenly, a stream of chunky vomit exploded out of the woman. She moaned, half slumped out of the bed. She said something in what sounded like Spanish but Hank knew wasn't. It was an ancient dialect. It was <i>Mayan. </i></p><p>"You said a crime was being commited. Best I can tell, you're kicking her ass. Maybe I should run you in."</p><p>"It's not me!" Rodrigo cried. "The crime is happening right now, as we speak! Can't you see?" </p><p>Hank turned on him. "What the hell are you talking about?" </p><p>"<i>Her hour is being cut</i>," Rodrigo said slowly, as if to a child. "Once your hour is cut, there is nothing that can be done. I've seen it before. They just die."</p><p>"What does that mean?"</p><p>"She will be dead in a few weeks."</p><p>Hank shook his head. He felt a physical chill pass through him. He knew what Rodrigo was getting at. <i>Descendant.</i> A fallen deity was causing this woman to whither away.</p><p>"How do they do it?" He asked.</p><p>"I don't know and I don't want to know! I stay away from the Brujo."</p><p>"The Brujo."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Can't you call a doctor?"</p><p>"For what? There is nothing a doctor can do. I stay away. I don't want my hour cut too!"</p><p>"Well, what do you want me to do?" Hank asked, seething. "What did you hire me for?"</p><p>"Find him and stop him before it's too late! You know <i>Descended</i>, at least that's the rumor. You can help her! You must!"</p><p>Hank swept his gaze around the room, noting the static electricity in the air, the hair on his arms stood on end. He walked to the edge of the bed and put a hand on her forehead. She was burning up. </p><p>"What's her name?"</p><p>"Olivetta."</p><p>He bent to her ear. "Olivetta, did a Descendant do this to you?"</p><p>Perspiration rolled off of her face as she nodded once and closed her eyes. She mumbled something under her breath. A chant or prayer, Hank couldn't tell. He felt dizzy as if her illness was catching. It had been this curious fact that had finally caused him to acquiesce and take Rodrigo's case. </p><p>"Olivetta, which Descendant? What deity did this to you?"</p><p>"The Brujo," She whispered. "Ch'ul tot! Ch'ul ch'en! Ch'ul vita chopol tamjmec ali jcruntatique!"</p><p>Rodrigo screamed and covered his ears. His mouth uttering the words as they poured out of her. Hank looked from one to the other, incredulity in his features. He walked to the other side of the bed. As he did, her eyes never left him. He creaked open a window and threw back cream-colored shades.</p><p>"What did she say?" </p><p>Rodrigo's distress spilled out in a loud, coughing sob. He whirled onto Hank and pulled him back by the shoulder. "It's not just a Brujo," He screamed. " He is here! It's J'ac'chamel!"</p><p>"Who?"</p><p>"J'ac'chamel is cutting her hour!"</p><p>"Who is that?"</p><p>"He is the giver of the process of death," Rodrigo said with sad finality. </p><p>"And?"</p><p>"Nothing can be done. She will be gone soon."</p><p>"I'll check it out, Rodrigo. But you have to be straight with me. Is J'ac'chamel <i>Descended</i>?"</p><p>Rodrigo's manic eyes were glassy. He raised both hands as if to ward off an invisible attacker. He wiped his nose on his left sleeve then stared down at Olivetta who had succumbed to sleep. </p><p>"J'ac'chamel has Descended. He lives and the Maya are without hope. The giver has come."</p><p>"Is it like magic?" Hank asked his mind suddenly on Hecate.</p><p>Rodrigo choked back a sob and wept into his hands. Hank turned and stared outside the tiny shack. His face betrayed none of the fear that he suddenly felt. </p>http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-62816280799085407782019-12-26T14:53:00.002-08:002019-12-26T14:53:47.046-08:00Arrival Of The Exiled Chapter 1!!!!!!!!!!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It was under a dark, rain filled sky that officer Gregg Ackerman came across the child, mutilated almost beyond recognition. The playground stood vacant. The sand caked and monkey bars slippery. Water made the jungle gym glisten. Some of the play set had fallen into disrepair but neighborhood children still came. This was where the little boy had likely been taken.<br />
Gregg walked through the crime scene, kerchief in hand. The New Los Angeles police department had the entire block barricaded but that didn’t stop nosy neighbors and reporters. Nothing ever did. He waved them back, was met with a half dozen phones pointed in his direction.<br />
“Anything to get the shot.” Ackerman spat. He glanced over at the beams and slide, the swing set that sat inert, too still as if frozen in place. He found himself shuddering.<br />
“It’s not the cold is it?” officer Ross Martson asked beside him.<br />
“A different kind of cold maybe.” Ackerman said with a humorless smile. “My insides are chilled.”<br />
“Uh-huh.”<br />
“Will you talk to the press?” Ross asked. “They’re starting to gather.”<br />
“This place is a crime scene.” Ackerman growled. “That little boy just had his insides ripped out. I could care less about the goddamn news networks.”<br />
“I’ll talk to them.” Ross said, a tone of frustration in his voice.<br />
Ackerman turned back to the body, began taking pictures. He felt macabre, like the body wasn’t actually real but a wax dummy. Something you’d find in an art house museum. The child’s head had been turned all the way around. So although he lay on his stomach, the boy’s terror filled eyes stared up at the clouds. His mouth was open but a bloody mess where his tongue had been taken. Ackerman bent down and inspected the face.<br />
“Has the kid’s tongue been found or did he take it with him?”<br />
Ross looked at the playground. “Nothing but the rain and sand might have it covered. Parts of him are everywhere.”<br />
Ackerman sighed, ducked under the crawl tube. He shimmied forward until he was under the big toy and let his eyes adjust to the shadows. He heard the rain bash onto the tube and it reminded him of a bass drum. His attention came at last to a smeared word written on the side of the equipment in sharp, angular script. Lamia.<br />
“Anything?” Ross asked.<br />
“Yeah.” Ackerman shambled up and to his feet.<br />
Silence held them as crime scene investigators entered the perimeter. Each of them took a look at the body but didn’t let their eyes linger too long. It seemed sacrilegious, Ackerman knew.<br />
Ackerman staggered back to his patrol car, felt the impact of the boy still on him. He fumbled with a cigarette while retrieving his phone from the glove box. He dialed quickly. <br />
“Yeah.” A familiar voice said after the first ring.<br />
“Hank. Gotta minute?” Ackerman asked.<br />
A slight pause. “What’s up?”<br />
“You ever heard of Lamia?”<br />
“Is it a food?”<br />
“An autograph on the side of a playground crawl tube.”<br />
“Is there a body?” Hank asked.<br />
“Yeah.”<br />
“How bad?”<br />
“Pretty sick. Kid missing body parts, gutted bad.”<br />
“Don’t say anything to the press, I’m on my way.”<br />
Thirty minutes later, Hank Dolan dipped his head under police tape and was immediately blocked before he could get a look at the crime scene.<br />
“You can’t be here, Dolan.” Ross said. “You’re not a cop anymore remember?”<br />
“Talk to Ackermann. He called me.” Hank growled.<br />
“Fuck that. I’m talking to you. There’s still a lot of cops that remember what you did last year. You can’t turn your back then come back like nothing happened. You killed cops asshole. Get the fuck out of here.”<br />
“What’s the matter Ross? Were you on Pious’s payroll too?”<br />
“Fuck you-”<br />
Just then, Ackermann grabbed Hank by the arm and spun away from what was quickly spiraling into a physical confrontation.<br />
“I hate that guy.” Hank said.<br />
“Oh, he knows it.” Ackermann said with a grin.<br />
Hank tried to push the memories of last year out of his mind but it was impossible. He couldn’t just forget how close he had come to getting himself killed while trying to protect Sadie Fuller. Then to find out Sadie herself was the most dangerous woman in the city had complicated things further. A splotch of red on the underside of the crawl tube brought him back around. He swallowed hard and looked at his feet. There were patches of wet clothing and was that hair? He stepped away from the tube and stared out at the playground. It took a few seconds before he realized what he was seeing. There were body parts strewn here and there. They were scattered as if the victim had literally been torn apart and his limbs just strewn wherever.<br />
“It’s a wild animal attack.” He said.<br />
“No, it’s not.” Ackermann responded. “Look.”<br />
He led Hank back underneath the tube and together they stared at the word Lamia scrawled in blood.<br />
“What the fuck is Lamia?” Ackermann asked.<br />
“I would guess a name.” Hank took out his phone and punched up the Internet. “Goddammit.”<br />
“What?”<br />
“It is. This one is Descended.”<br />
Ackermann looked out at the playground and shook his head. “Sure?”<br />
“A hundred percent. It’s Greek, Descended with the others.”<br />
“Same as last year?”<br />
Hank’s mind flashed to Sadie Fuller. “No. This one is different. You guys are gonna have your hands full.”<br />
“You’re gonna consult right?” Ackermann said sharply.<br />
“I’m not a cop anymore. Ross is right about that much.” <br />
“You’ve had experience tracking these things. Hank, how the fuck do I go about catching a Descendant that eats goddamn children?”<br />
“I’d start by checking missing persons reports and the morgues. Good luck, pal.”<br />
“Are you serious?”<br />
Hank held up his hands in a pacifying fashion. He backed up and ducked under the police tape.<br />
“Don’t come back.” Ross smirked.<br />
“Tell the Church of Man I said hello.” Hank responded without turning his head.<br />
“Fuck you, Dolan.”<br />
Hank jumped into his Sedan and looked back at the crime scene that was quickly being cordoned off. He felt a chill all the way up his spine. For the first time in the past year, he was relieved to be a private investigator. This case was sure to get ugly and he wanted no part of it. <br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Lilac and Lemon. </i>Sadie Fuller woke up at the Lotus. At least, that’s what it used to be called. Now it was a sea of yellow flowers swaying like feathers in the breeze. She could smell them. But these weren’t lilacs. They were some kind of daffodil or tulip. The grounds used to be maintained, back when the Maharishi-ten, Japanese Descendant goddess, still lived.<br />
Sadie closed her eyes and let Kali come forth. She felt pressure as the Indian goddess stretched her arms. Kali bit her tongue. Hard. Sadie winced as blood gushed into her mouth. Kali looked out through Sadie’s eyes and breathed in the mountain air. “Does this look familiar to you?” She asked. Kali inspected the bear statue that marked the entrance to the Maharishi-ten’s compound. It was dull gray with fangs. Parts had started to chip off as though the demise of the goddess was now signaling the end of her images and symbols as well. Kali kicked at the pebbles on the ground. <i>She is a stranger to me. </i>Sadie nodded, pushed the goddess deep inside once again.<br />
They had started to take walks. All around the estate, Sadie would walk with Kali, acquainting herself with the goddess that had caused her to kill thirty or more the previous year. It wasn’t my fault. Sadie thought. Somewhere she heard Kali snicker.<br />
She dipped her hand under a tree branch and sat cross legged amongst the flowers. She was soft, careful not to crush the pedals. At the horizon, the morning sun bathed the estate in shadowy purple. She picked out a blossom, held it to her nose. The fragrance made her feel light-headed. Perhaps it was residual grace from the goddess that had planted it.<br />
The sound of footsteps walking down the dirt driveway caused her to look up. And there stood Nephthys. Descended Egyptian Goddess, she had been looking after Sadie since her stay began. Sadie assumed she was there to make sure Kali didn’t kill anybody else. Although she had pangs of resentment, she understood. Kali had been an unstoppable force of nature.<br />
Nephthys stopped just short of the blossoms and glanced around. Her dark eyes measured everything as if she were a falcon taking in what lay below.<br />
“You coming up for breakfast?” She asked.<br />
Sadie smiled. “Yeah, I’m starved.”<br />
Nephthys came close, put a hand on Sadie’s head. She felt pressure as the goddess squeezed her scalp ever so lightly. Sadie sighed weakly.<br />
“The caretaker comes today.” Nephthys said.<br />
Sadie glanced up the driveway beyond the blossoms toward the three tiered pagoda that lay a mile up the road. Her back stiff, she took a deep breath and noticed her fingers clenched.<br />
“You know how I feel about visitors.”<br />
“This can’t be helped. It’s his generosity that is allowing us a respite from the city.”<br />
“But Kali.”<br />
“Kali will have to be controlled.” Nephthys sniffed. “The goddess can only exercise her will if you allow it.”<br />
Sadie gritted her teeth.<i> I will not be invisible. </i>She felt her head swim, closed her eyes. “You know that’s not true.”<br />
Nephthys looked into Sadie’s eyes. “She must be made to understand.”<br />
Sadie swallowed. “Oh, I think she understands. She just doesn’t care. It’s compulsion.”<br />
Nephthys nodded, running a hand through Sadie’s glossy black hair.<br />
Out in the distance, a car was making its way up the driveway. A cloud of dust rose up in its wake.<br />
Sadie leaned forward, squinted. “That’s him.”<br />
A hush came over the estate as the pair walked toward the pagoda. Sadie looked directly ahead, her jaw tight. Again, Nephthys ran a hand through her hair, this time giving it a playful tug.<br />
“Hey now.” Sadie said, trying to sound annoyed.<br />
“Sorry Mama.” Nephthys teased. She glanced back at the freshly washed Lexus winding upward. The car skidded to a stop. Fudo San invisible through the window tint.<br />
Nephthys smiled and waved. “Stay calm. Whatever you do, keep the Indian goddess at bay.”<br />
<br />
<br />
She awoke in the dark. She looked down at her hands. They were milky. She stretched each finger. She reached up, felt her face. It was warm. Heated. Her fingertips felt the contours, the shape. She knew her name. Hecate. But she didn’t recognize her body. The body was a stranger, something fleeting, ghostly. She could still sense the bodiless. They were here too. But they were silent, quieted. She probed out. Yes. They were there but she felt them as if, like her body, they were not hers.<br />
<i>I am Hecate. She thought. Of the Titans. </i><br />
Hecate stood. She ran her hands through red woven silk, straightened her back, felt a popping in her spine. A wetness settled on her face. She felt it drip down, warm against her skin. She raised her hands slowly, collected the wetness on her finger. The wetness came from her nose as well. She sniffed. But the world was blurry now. Hecate wiped at her sockets.<br />
She squinted at tawny leaves that had collected around her. She wondered how she’d found herself there. Had she been taken? Staring at the moon, she heard howling. First one or two then a whole chorus. She smiled. But there was a crashing sound as well. She tasted something on her tongue. The orange and brown tree leaves were just an assemblage of many. Perhaps ten to twelve large oaks had all deposited leaves in a disarray. Tree branch shadows spun outward like cold, misshapen fingers. Hecate looked past them and saw the dark churning. A rolling rhythm with beads of white crashed outward, downward. The ground underneath her feet suddenly felt flaccid. Hecate shivered. She watched the ocean waves blast onto the shore for five minutes. She felt them as if they were polishing the surface where they crashed. She looked at the glossy sand and walked out to it. She knelt.<i> It’s cold!</i> She looked right then left then spied a pier a short distance away. She felt a pull towards it. It was a tug somewhere in her psyche. The structure was speckled in lights. From where she stood, they were tiny orbs. They reminded her of stars, like the ones above her head. She wanted to reach out to them. But even more than that, she wanted to taste the ocean.<br />
Hecate slipped out of her simple, sheer garment. She felt it fall down her back and onto the feet. She heard a whistle from somewhere close and observed a mortal man also at the water’s edge. He stared at her, his head slowly shaking.<br />
Hecate’s attention went back to the water; It’s icy grip at her ankles, she waded in. A crash sent the taste of salt onto her tongue. She knew the current was strong, already she was shoved this way and that. She rocked as the waves came on. She jumped headfirst, felt the violent jolt as air was forced out of her lungs. The wave rolled onto her, she felt it like a cutting palpation on her back and legs. She gasped in neck high water, danced back to the water’s edge.<br />
Again Hecate felt the pull and glanced at the lights to her left. She swung left and picking up her dress in stride, headed towards the pull. Hecate plunged down the beach at almost a gallop. She stopped to slip the dress back although she couldn’t really say why. Her nakedness didn’t matter. She found after a few minutes, her legs tired. They trembled and she had to sit. But still that pull called out to her.<br />
<i>What is it? </i>She thought.<br />
Hecate stared up at the full moon and began to mumble an incantation. Her wet hair in her face, she brushed it smoothly back with the back of her hand. Her body shook in the breeze. She spoke aloud but her voice trembled. Quickly she realized her words were having no effect. Nothing was manifesting. Her words might as well have been meaningless.<i> Oh no.</i> She tried again, then again. Nothing. Hecate hesitated, probed out to the bodiless. They were there but faint. They would come but were powerless? Was that true? She felt the power in her lingering. A potential as yet untapped but couldn’t call out to it fully. It was as if her magic was only a vestigial spark of what it had been. She wanted to cry out, rage at the churning black in front of her. She seethed through gritted teeth. The bodiless were apathetic. Their shapes darker than the surrounding night. They waited. <i>What are you waiting for? Help me!</i> But like her magic, the dead existed in abeyance.<br />
Hecate found herself breathing hard and tried to calm herself. She looked out at the pier, it was closer now. She could be underneath it in a short time. She headed towards it, ignoring the cuts on her feet. Soon she looked up at cross beams and smelled rotting wood. Above, she heard others passing by. Their voices echoed off the girder, booming down. Hecate felt the pull again. It was like an itch.<br />
“You shouldn’t be here.” A voice said in the dark. Hecate startled, she hadn’t noticed the man sitting at one of the giant beams to her right. He dipped his head in measured civility. His eyes never left her though. Even in the dark, she felt them on her.<br />
“I’m allowed passage anywhere.” She said.<br />
“Nah. I don’t think so. Not wearing that.”<br />
Hecate looked down at the dress that clung to her wet skin. She saw breasts pulling the fabric tight, her pubic area doing the same. The man took a step forward. He tried to smile, rubbed at his lips. He had dark, glittery eyes and a hard, lined face. His wiry frame gave him the appearance of a cricket.<br />
As he got close, Hecate backed further into the dark, toward the adjacent beam opposite to where he had been sitting. She walked back deliberately, turning to her left and then left again. The man followed slowly.<br />
“You shouldn’t have come down here.” She heard him say. “It’s not safe.”<br />
Hecate ducked behind another beam, crouched and took a few paces back towards where he had approached her. On her hands and knees, she crawled forward. Again her mind was pulled by that strange sensation to head further down the water’s edge.<br />
A hand came down and gripped her by the hair. Hecate was thrown back into a beam. She felt warmth where her skull had cracked against the wooden support.<br />
“Fucking bitch!” The man punched her hard in the stomach, then laid atop her, his hand on her mouth.<br />
“You dirty fucking hooker. You meeting a john here?”<br />
Hecate squirmed underneath him, felt hot breath on her face. His other hand on her breasts, he gyrated his hip into her, grinding against her until she felt him hard against her inner thigh.<br />
“Don’t you make a fucking sound.” He whispered. But it was too late. Hecate smashed the rock she had been holding into his face. He screamed as blood spurted from his nose. Hecate felt it spray onto her face and tasted it on her lips. She brought the rock and thrashed him on the side of the head. He toppled back, against the pier beam and gurgled something incoherent. She brought the rock down again. Then again. Hecate leaped toward him, strode silently to stand within kissing distance then brought the rock down multiple times in quick succession. It was a savage array of blows. As she looked down at the mess at her feet, she felt the itch again. She closed her eyes tight until it passed.<br />
Hecate bent close until she was at the man’s ear.<br />
“Bodiless.” She said quietly. “I need answers.”<br />
She sat him upright, his wet, glazed eyes stared up towards the bottom of the pier. Hecate frowned. She turned his head towards her.<br />
“Can you hear me?”<br />
She waited. The man didn’t stir. Hecate stared down at him, chewed at her lip.<br />
“Bodiless!” She snapped. “You will liaise with me!”<br />
Again she waited. They felt faint, just out of reach. The man coughed. Blood sprayed out in a mist. Hecate jerked his chin forward until she was looking into his eyes. “What has happened? Is this the Titans seeking retribution?”<br />
The corpse in front of her gurgled softly. His mouth moving faintly. Hecate bent her ear to his mouth.<br />
“Tell me departed, what is happening?”<br />
The man’s mouth widened as if he was going to take a bite of an apple then a voice that hadn’t been his in life uttered. “You are in front of the veil.”<br />
Hecate gasped and stood quickly. <i>Of course.</i> Why hadn’t she discerned it?<br />
She looked south, felt the itch come back. Hecate went back to the water’s edge and washed her hands and feet. She ducked her head for good measure.<i> The veil is asunder.</i> She thought. Slowly, in ankle deep water, the goddess Hecate began to walk south.<br />
<div>
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http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-22936008500675592042019-10-28T18:56:00.001-07:002019-10-28T18:56:24.312-07:00Hecate and Sadie chapter excerpt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Sadie stepped into the nightclub and immediately felt closed in. After the wide spaces of the Lotus, a dinghy, hazy filled room with almost no light felt too much like the Basement. Her mind went back to that fateful night over a year ago and shuddered.<br />
Nephthys took her hand and led her to a corner away from the blasting speakers.<br />
“I’m going to get us some beers. Stay here.” She said.<br />
“What are we doing here?” Sadie moaned.<br />
“Until we can get a hold of Hank, we need to be someplace public.<br />
With that, the Egyptian goddess looked towards the front door. Afternoon light seeped in from the sides and bottom making the entrance look otherworldy in the darkened club. She pulled a compact out of her backpack. Sadie leaned in involuntarily. Nephthys scowled at her face in the mirror.<br />
“Do I look that bad?”<br />
“Like somebody just kicked the shit out of you.” Sadie said with a weak smile.<br />
“Look who’s talking.” Nephthys smiled then grimaced.<br />
“Yeah, but I took his eye.” Kali said through Sadie’s mouth. Nephthys glanced at her friend. It was always a mystery with Sadie just how much control she really had. Sometimes it felt like talking to a marionette.<br />
“Got anything else in that bag?” Sadie asked.<br />
“Take it to the bathroom. There’s probably a half a gram left from the other night.”<br />
Sadie licked her lips and snapped the compact shut. Nephthys watched her while scanning the room. “Try Hank again.” She said. “I don’t want to stay too long here. It will look weird.”<br />
“I don’t think anybody could possibly be weirded out by us.”<br />
She was right. The club was one of those goth inspired places that boomed with black lipstick and industrial rock music. Across the main floor, dancers strutted their wares in cages. Most were heavily tattooed and pierced. They shook their asses while men fumbled around slipping tips through the steel bars. Sadie thought of Freya and pushed the image of her friend out of her mind. She watched as Nephthys took a small staircase down to the bar floor and motioned for the barkeep. Still watching her friend, she auto-dialed Hank’s phone for the third time.<br />
No response. At the sound of his voice message, she put a hand across the phone to shield it from outside noise. “Hey, it’s me. We left the Lotus.***** came.” She paused. “He messed me up pretty bad, baby. Call me.”<br />
She put the phone away and watched a small group, maybe ten or fifteen people began converging near the center of the room. They were young, no older than herself, both men and women. All wore black, some robes that must have been breathtakingly hot. Her attention shifted shifted back to Nephthys who had just gotten two beers and was also staring at the crowd as she approached the corner booth.<br />
“What is it?” She asked.<br />
Sadie shook her head. She took a long pull off the beer and put it against her cheek. The coolness seeped into her bruised skin. She sighed and rubbed it on her forehead and eyes. In the center of the room, the small group had now grown to twenty or more. They made a ring, enclosed within one another. Some of the women were serpentine, slowly moving their hips around each other. As Sadie watched, an inner circle began to move opposite the main giving an eerie living effect, as if it were undulating or pulsating. To Sadie, they looked like a murmuration of birds, shifting from a circle to an hourglass shape and back. Both circles thickened like skin or maybe scales as the moving bodies coalesced into a single unit. Then from the outer circle, four stepped out. Each faced in a different direction. One for north, one for south, one for east and one for west. Then each pulled out what looked like a silver blade.<br />
<br />
Hecate tried to visualize her friend as she stepped into the darkened room and squinted to see better. She had worn a white tank top and cutoffs and immediately felt stupid when she saw the ocean of black attire. It’s emo. She thought and debated leaving already. Stephanie would never come here. This isn’t her type of place. But was it? Her friend had been showing changes recently. She had refused to be subservient in their bedroom. The bed ties had been ignored. Hecate didn’t like it, she felt a pang of jealousy. At the very least she could say if there was a new boyfriend. Hecate strode to a booth and sat down hard. She willed the bodiless to her but knew immediately that something was wrong. Although she could see the greenish black hue of their silhouettes, they seemed reluctant. They were<i> troubled.</i> She willed them again and again they wanted to refuse. “What the hell?” Hecate pushed harder, letting her mind visualize the entire club. They would come to her. They would come when summoned and depart when banished. Then she heard a voice in her ear. Out of the corner of her eye, a hazy shade was near. <i>No, my priestess.</i> What? Hecate turned her head towards it.<br />
“What is the matter?” She said irritably.<i> Something is here. A Darkness.</i> The bodiless said.<i> A void. We won’t go near it.</i><br />
“A void.” Hecate repeated.<br />
<i>Yes, my priestess. We cannot see through it.</i><br />
“I’ll avoid nothing.” Hecate said tersely.<br />
As she said this, she noticed a mass of bodies in front of her. They began to move in rhythm. Not unlike the people at the roof top market, they came together in Eros as one. She knew it was her. Her presence was all that was needed for the residual grace of her title. As she watched, she felt her skin vibrate, the hairs on her arms stood on end. She was electric fire. She was the red wand, a lioness. She was blazing summer, mercurial, creation manifest. Her head began to get heavy, she wondered if her eyes were bleeding.<br />
“Is it the coven?”<br />
But the bodiless were gone. They had fled. Hecate darted her head left and right. Nothing. Her bodiless had left her. Then off in the corner, on the other side of the room, she saw a solid darkness.<br />
<br />
Sadie took Nephthys’s hand into her own as she watched the swirling bodies change shape into what appeared to be arcane symbols or letters of a long dead language. She stood in awe as it morphed suddenly then changed direction.<br />
“It’s like it’s alive.” Nephthys said softly.<br />
“Yes.”<br />
Sadie saw bursts of green shadow. They would ignite then disappear in random places. They were flecks of hue, tiny illuminations that revealed shapes. Somewhere inside, she felt Kali tense. Sadie felt odd, as if she had accidentally witnessed a crime being committed. Then something moved adjacent to the swarm of bodies. A woman had stood up from the booth nearly directly across the room and was staring right at her.<br />
<br />
Hecate stared into the darkness and swore it was staring back at her. She felt it thick as fog and just as blinding. She squinted and began to make sense of what she was seeing. It was a woman, tall and ebony skinned. She had a lithe build and curly brown hair. She’d be beautiful if her face didn’t look to have been beaten. But there was something else. Standing next to the ebony was a veil of blackness. It was a caul of darkness. Hecate stood and stared as it began to reveal itself. A body! Somebody else was there and the darkness had disguised it. As she watched, the veil momentarily slipped and she saw her. Hecate gasped. It was the woman she had seen both in dreams and waking life. Aside from the blue skin and tongue, it was her.<br />
“You!” She screamed.<br />
<br />
Sadie felt Kali lunge forward and nearly tumbled. Nephthys had a hold of her arm and began to pull. Sadie felt herself in a reverie and shook her head. Kali, stop! She looked out at the crowd. The woman had screamed and was pointing at her. Sadie felt Nephthys pull her towards the back of the club. Her arm hurt where the Egyptian goddess was squeezing and she tried to pry her fingers off. She stumbled and fell, her knee cracking the wooden flooring.<br />
“What is happening?”<br />
“I don’t know!” Nephthys screamed. “But I think she knows you and I’d bet she’s Descended!”<br />
Sadie veered hard into the wall and again the Descendant flashed before her eyes. She saw broken glass and bloody screams.<br />
Nephthys grabbed her by the shoulder and steered her toward an exit sign at the back of the club. Sadie glanced back to see if the woman was following.<br />
And she was.<br />
“She’s chasing us!”<br />
Sadie screamed as she burst through the dark club into the light of day.<br />
<br />
Hecate stopped at the exit sign and watched the women flee like terrified kittens. It didn’t matter. She had seen her. She knew the mortal face and also knew something Descended lay underneath. She willed the bodiless around her. They came albeit reluctant.<br />
“You will follow them.”<br />
<i>We will not. </i><br />
“You will.”<br />
<i>No, goddess we cannot. </i><br />
“Why?”<br />
<i>We will not. </i><br />
“Why are you terrified?”<br />
But there was no answer. Hecate scoffed and walked back into the club.<br />
<div>
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http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-52591023813035578732019-09-19T19:55:00.000-07:002019-09-19T19:55:48.969-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Hank inhaled, smelled the sweet aroma of freshly cut grass. It was rich here, the cemetery a bouquet of purple and yellow flowers, their petals dipped in new paint. It didn’t seem real. As if the grounds were beautified all at once. New Los Angeles cemetery wasn’t the only one of its kind in the city but it was the most expansive. Located underneath the Bay Bridge, it’s ground covered miles and was meticulously maintained.<br />
The girl had agreed to meet but insisted on it being here, amongst the spirits. Hank shuddered involuntarily and stepped further in. He was almost apprehensive, a fetid claustrophobia settled into him. He felt like he was being swallowed. <br />
Then, as the church bells began to toll, she stepped into the open. Hecate. A Descendant. She looked the same as when she barged into his office weeks earlier. Her dyed red hair was pulled back into a pony tail; Her tiny arms and small waist drowned in the black t-shirt she wore. Hecate’s face was borderline beautiful. She had put on burgundy lipstick that matched her hair and a shade of eye shadow that was the color of pinot noir. To Hank, her eyes were the most expressive. They were large, almost too large for her face and spaced a hair farther apart than was usual, giving her an exotic look.<br />
She stepped up to him, took a sniff.<br />
“Hello Detective.” She said.<br />
“Hello Descendant.” He replied.<br />
She blinked at him, her thick eye lashes gazed up curiously.<br />
“You’re not afraid?” She asked him.<br />
Hank lowered his head, stretched his neck. “I’ve met other Descendants.”<br />
“Oh, yes. I heard that. May I ask which ones?”<br />
“You may not.” He answered.<i> I’ve seen much worse than you though honey.</i> His mind flashed to Sadie Fuller in the blackness of a barn.<br />
Hecate frowned, like a daughter that had just been told no for the first time.<br />
“Are you gonna find Stephanie?”<br />
“I’m going to try.”<br />
Hecate motioned for him to follow and they moved past a row of oak trees that had probably stood for a hundred years. Hank heard a dog howling somewhere close and wild bird flapping above.<br />
“I need to know what happened that night Hecate.”<br />
“Have you talked to Deanna?” Hecate asked quickly.<br />
“I have.”<br />
“Did she tell you what I told her happened?”<br />
“She said I should ask you.”<br />
“Figures.”<br />
<i>Oh, there are issues there.</i> Hank thought. “Is Deanna a problem?”<br />
Hecate laughed. “Not to me. She’s a total fucking cunt to Steph though. But whatever. It’s not my business.“<br />
She stopped. As if unsure to continue or perhaps second guessing what she wanted to say.<br />
“Uh-huh.” Hank prompted. He cleared his throat. “Is it about Ray?”<br />
Hecate looked quickly at him. “How do you know about Ray?”<br />
“I’ve been interviewing people around the neighborhood.”<br />
Hecate smiled devilishly. “Ray’s a con and piece of shit. He tried to fuck me so what does that tell you?”<br />
<i>Holy shit.</i><br />
“That Deanna has shitty taste in men.”<br />
“That’s for sure.”<br />
They stopped at a gravestone. Hank saw that it was old, the chiseling faint, rubbed out. It would disappear entirely one day. It read: A. Winters.<br />
“Did you know this person?” He asked.<br />
But Hecate’s attention was elsewhere. Her dark eyes focused on something in the distance. As if a memory had surfaced that would have been better off staying submerged.<br />
“Was it Ray?” She asked.<br />
“What?”<br />
“Do you think it was Ray?”<br />
“I was going to ask you that question.”<br />
Hecate turned away, her forehead scrunched up. “I don’t know.”<br />
“Hecate, What exactly happened?”<br />
The trees rustled overhead as Hecate shivered and put her hands in her pockets. Avoiding his eyes, she stared at the ground. Hank led her to the shade and there they sat. He heard a low hum and sat up straight. In the corner of his eye, he saw shadows moving about. <i>Her residuals.</i> He thought.<br />
Hecate stared at him smiling.<br />
<i>She’s doing this. </i><br />
He looked her in the eye, both knowing that it was she causing the disturbances in his mind.<br />
“Stop it, Descendant.” He ordered.<br />
“I thought you knew more of us. Surely, you’ve been subject to our grace before?”<br />
“It’s not grace.” He said in a dry voice. “Not anymore.”<br />
“Maybe not. But you don’t look so well Detective.”<br />
“Stop it!”<br />
Hank jumped up and grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet. “Tell me what happened or I drop this goddamn case right now.”<br />
Hecate shook his hand off of her. “Fine! Don’t touch me again.”<br />
Hank felt that some threshold had passed between them, that he had passed some test he didn’t know she was administering. It was like that with the fallen deities sometimes. You never really knew what they were thinking. It was like being around a tiger, the potentiality for ferocity was always there. He knew whatever he had said or done had been right.<br />
Hecate moved to the cemetery fence and turned to face him. Her back to it, she leaned back. He heard it creak under her weight. The sound unsettled him.<br />
I saw your deck.” She almost whispered. “At your office. The tarot deck. Do you know that <i>I’m the priestess.</i>” She looked up at him, her lips parted just slightly. “I’m she. I could tell you everything. The magic behind the veil.”<br />
“Well, you could start by telling me where your fucking friend is.” He said. Hecate stopped short, looking away dejected.<br />
“It was here.” She said. “We were here when she came.”<br />
“At the cemetery?”<br />
“Yes.”<br />
Hank turned toward her, noticed for the first time the piercing in her bottom lip.<i> How did I miss that?</i><br />
“Do you like it?” She asked sweetly.<br />
Hank stepped forward. “Stop fucking with me!”<br />
“I think you do.” She said leaning forward.<br />
Hank raised a finger to her face. “What happened?” He demanded.<br />
“She showed up out of nowhere!”<br />
“Who did!” Hank shouted.<br />
Hecate shook her head violently, her tiny fists balled up, eyes blazed up at him. “I have no idea! Some woman. An old lady, grayish.”<br />
“That describes everybody over forty. Got anything else?”<br />
“She was blind.”<br />
Silence.<br />
Hank stared at Hecate, his eyes swept over her near perfect features. “She was old and blind?”<br />
“Yes.” Hecate whispered. “Her eyes were whites, covered in cataracts.”<br />
“And this old, gray, blind woman-somehow managed to overpower two young women and carry Stephanie off in her fucking-old-person-wheel-chair-chariot?”<br />
“Fuck you. I don’t care if you believe me.”<br />
<i>This Descendant is drug addled.</i> Hank thought. “Perhaps you’re confused.” He turned his attention toward the cemetery exit. “I thought you wanted to find your friend. Or perhaps you don’t, I don’t know.”<br />
“What does that mean?”<br />
Hank studied her, debating how far he could push her. He turned to walk away.<br />
“Are you saying I had something to do with this?” She asked.<br />
For the first time, Hank felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Her ferocity was evident, threatening to spill out violently. He took two steps back, his eyes not leaving her even for a second.<br />
Hecate spoke slowly, the pitch of her voice low, raspy. “Don’t do that. I told you. It was an old woman. She was graying, wrinkled, stooped.”<br />
“What was she wearing?”<br />
“A nightgown I think. It was sheer, like, I could almost see through it in the moonlight.”<br />
“How late was it?”<br />
“Not too late. Ten maybe? Stephanie was picking flowers. And she was just suddenly there.”<br />
Hank stared at the Descendant goddess and his doubt began to melt away. Hecate looked haggard. Her eyes were troubled as if the truth was hard for even her to believe. She recoiled when she caught him staring.<br />
“Hecate, would you be willing to undergo hypnosis?”<br />
“Huh?”<br />
“Sometimes in a trauma of this kind, memory isn’t always accurate. Sometimes the mind changes certain details to make it easier to cope. I think this might be what is happening to you.”<br />
“You want to hypnotize me?”<br />
“Not me. I gotta gal that will do it.”<br />
“To see if my mind is playing trick on me.”<br />
“There’s a chance that how you remember it isn’t actually how it happened. Is that OK?”<br />
“I guess.”<br />
“I think it will help.”<br />
Hecate smiled at him. An alluring smile that again made him feel unsettled. She whirled away in one swift move, like a dancer in a routine. She looked back as she exited the cemetery and crossed the street, hailing a cab with a short whistle.<br />
Hank still hadn’t moved.<br />
<br />
<br />
Hecate felt a sense of quickening as she entered the office of Dolan’s hypnotist. She had tiny limbs, pearl white teeth, saucers for glasses. She sat poised.<i> Does she know I’m Descended?</i><br />
Sevier smiled but it wasn’t contrived or silly. A natural smile. She cleared her throat, wrapped her scarf a little tighter. Hecate could tell it was handmade, probably by the Doctor herself.<br />
“I’m Dr. Clarke Sevier.” She said simply. “Please sit.”<br />
Hecate couldn’t remember feeling so tired. She absently wondered if the hypnosis had already begun. She sat heavily, her arms to her side. She looked out the window at a blue house. The cloud filled sky would soon succumb to the dark blot of nighttime.<br />
She waited.<br />
“Now then.” Sevier began. “Hank tells me you want to retrieve some memories.”<br />
Hecate stared into space for a short time. “Yes.”<br />
Sevier nodded. “I can help you with that. Have you ever been hypnotized?”<br />
Hecate shook her head. Her brittle expression stared back at Sevier. “I’m not like most people. This probably won’t work.”<br />
Sevier smiled, a sweeping motion with her whole being that made Hecate’s chest pound. <i>The Doctor knows. </i><br />
“I’ve met others like you.” Sevier said.<br />
“Is that OK? Is any of this safe…for you?” Hecate asked.<br />
“It’s certainly fine. It seems to me that your kind, like mine, just don’t want to feel alone. That, my dear, is our commonality. We don’t want to feel alone. And that’s why I’m not afraid. Loneliness is the most universal, the most human characteristic you’ve inherited while Descending. I am sorry for that.”<br />
Hecate had never heard anything like it. The mortal woman had imparted a great secret.<br />
“I’ve interacted with Descended before. Believe me.” Sevier said softly.<br />
Hecate studied the woman then turned her head to Hank. “We can begin.”<br />
Sevier nodded, sat up straight in her chair and focused on Hecate. She gazed as if absorbed in Hecate’s features. Hecate wondered what the maiden form of this mortal had looked like. She would bet the Doctor had been ravishing in youth. Sevier lifted her hands in a gesture.<br />
“I want you to take deep breaths.” Sevier said. She took a deep breath and motioned for Hecate to try. The goddess inhaled deeply through her nose then exhaled through parted lips.<br />
“Good.” Sevier cooed. “Just keep breathing in regularly, deeply, and focus on my voice.”<br />
Hecate felt her muscles dissolve into the couch. She felt like soft ice cream and wondered if she’d simply fall asleep.<br />
“I want you to stare at the back wall behind me. Do you see a picture?”<br />
“Yes.”<br />
“What is it?”<br />
Hecate heard the ticks of a clock on the wall. She turned towards it, Sevier followed her gaze.<br />
“The picture on the wall is of a tiger but I’d rather focus on that.”<br />
“The clock?”<br />
“The ticking.”<br />
“Do it.”<br />
Hecate felt wisps of her hair settle onto her forehead. Soon, the tiny ticks were thunderous in her ears. They boomed like large fireworks. Dolan remained silent. His eyes revealing nothing, he simply sat immobile.<br />
“I want you to relax your head and shoulders.” Sevier said. “Relax them wholly, completely.”<br />
Hecate obeyed. Her eyes half shut, she loosened her muscles, rolled her shoulders until they were pliable as dough.<br />
“Now your chest.” Sevier said. “Good. And now your arms and hands.”<br />
Hecate felt as if her body had been submerged into the warm blue. She was in Greece again. She was in Thessaly. She was in the womb. She stretched out until her face was exposed then closed her eyes and let the water come over her head. She drifted down. Down into the warm blue. She heard Sevier’s voice but it was far away. She was in the warm blue again. She was home again.<br />
“You’re on a staircase Hecate” Sevier said. “I want you to imagine yourself at the top of a staircase.”<br />
Hecate nodded.<br />
“There are ten steps. We’re going to take each step one by one.”<br />
“Into the warm blue.”<br />
“Yes, Hecate. Into the blue. With each step you’ll become more and more relaxed.”<br />
“Yes.”<br />
“Take the first step, Hecate. I’m with you. You’re getting more relaxed. Can you feel it?”<br />
“Yes.”<br />
Hecate felt herself beginning to lose herself. It wasn’t sleep. It was as if she were drugged or in a trance. Her limbs were driftwood on a river.<br />
“I’m being carried away.” She said.<br />
“Good. Now a second…and the third.”<br />
Hecate was swallowed by a whale. She heard Sevier from far away.<br />
“The fourth.”<br />
There was a blackness at the bottom of the staircase. It was the night having become the texture of polished onyx. It was shining. Hecate gasped. “The night is shining.”<br />
“Take the fifth. Now the sixth.” Sevier said.<br />
The dark was close, entrails of shadow seeped outward like fingers. They probed from the blackness.<br />
“The seventh.”<br />
Hecate was close.<br />
“The eighth.”<br />
She was almost at the radiating darkness. She could feel it vibrating, a low hum.<br />
“The ninth.”<br />
She was there. Hecate stepped just outside the mass.<br />
“The tenth.”<br />
Hecate stepped inside. This wasn’t the warm blue it was something else, something darker. Hecate drooped, felt as if she were plunging into the mass. Was she falling? She heard Sevier’s voice. “I’m going to ask you a few questions about the day Stephie went missing.”<br />
Hecate tried to swallow, to orient herself. She squirmed in the blackness, heard a hissing come from somewhere in front of her.<br />
“Hecate, what happened in the cemetery?”<br />
“The alley.” Hecate corrected. Hank looked from Sevier to Hecate then back to the Doctor. He leaned close, took out his notebook and began to jot rapidly.<br />
Hecate looked up the staircase, the light was fading. “There was somebody there. A man. We heard tapping on the street.”<br />
“From his shoes.”<br />
“Yes.”<br />
Hecate heard hissing again. A whisper came from the dark in front of her. “Mara.”<br />
“What did he look like Hecate?”<br />
She shook her head. “He was our height. He had a rag. It smelled. He put it over Stephanie’s face.”<br />
“Mmmmmaaaarrrraaaaaa.” The whisper in the dark got louder. Hecate winced and stuck out her arms protectively.<br />
“We need to stop.” Hecate said.<br />
“We’re almost there honey. Just a little longer.” It was Hank.<br />
“Tell me what his face looks like.” Sevier coaxed.<br />
Hecate squinted but couldn’t see him. “It’s in shadows. I can’t see it.”<br />
“Is he taking Stephanie?”<br />
“He has a rag over her mouth. She’s struggling at first then goes limp. He’s taking her! Oh no! He’s dragging her away!”<br />
“I am she who is black.” The voice whispered in Hecate’s ear. I am the sheath.”<br />
Hecate screamed.<br />
“Where is he taking her Hecate?”<br />
“He’s taking her away!”<br />
Hecate spasmed in the dark. The blackness gleamed and reflected back onto itself. It was a fog, something dense. Patches of shadow wrapped around her legs and torso. Se heard it again.<br />
“I am the sheath.”<br />
Then Hecate saw a face materializing out of the dark. It had been no more than inches away the entire time. It was a woman. She had a bluish hue, large black sockets. The face was beautiful in its terribleness. She opened her mouth to show fangs and then unfurled a long, dripping tongue. Hecate froze, momentarily paralyzed. But the night terror revealed more. Hecate saw a necklace of small skulls, felt a blade tip on her midsection.<br />
She tried to call the bodiless, reached out with her mind but the dead weren’t listening or no longer cared. The soot oozed up her chest and shoulders, melted into her skin until she was as black as the darkness around her. The staircase! She turned to run but the thing in front of her grabbed her by the left forearm and yanked her back.<br />
Hecate yelped as cold water was thrown into her face. She blinked a number of times.<br />
“Hecate, wake up!” Hank screamed.<br />
She was on the floor. Sevier was standing in the corner of the room in a defensive posture. Her eyes stared in fright.<br />
“What happened?” Hecate asked.<br />
“You began screaming and writhing on the couch.” Hank said. “You had a goddamn fit.”<br />
Hecate began to remember things as is through an aperture. Things were getting smaller, less defined. The gap was closing.<br />
“Did you get what you needed?” She asked.<br />
Hank shrugged. “We got some insights into the truth.”<br />
“You were wonderful, dear.” Sevier chimed in quietly. “I should have woken you earlier. I’m so sorry.”<br />
“It’s OK. I don’t remember much.”<br />
“It’s probably best.” Hank said.<br />
But it was true. Hecate remembered walking down the staircase or at least the first few steps. Then a face. A face in the dark. She wondered if the bodiless had caused her to fit. Somewhere she thought she heard a shrill scream. Was that my own? She tilted her head back. Why was I screaming?<br />
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http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-74455078284399267232019-05-21T21:32:00.000-07:002019-05-21T21:32:20.390-07:00A warning. Neon Gods II: The Coming Of The Exiled<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
‘Lilac and lemon’. Sadie Fuller glanced down at the garden spade caked in sludge and pursed her lips. The sun was warm today, bordering on hot. She felt perspiration on her forehead and the back of her neck, her pony tail swayed in the soft breeze. ‘It’s coming along’. She thought.<br />
“We should head inside.” Nephthys said beside her. “Fudo San doesn’t want us being seen.”<br />
“We’re far enough removed.” Sadie said evenly. “Couldn’t be farther from the city.”<br />
“Still.” Nephthys insisted.<br />
“Fine.”<br />
Sadie bent to her lilacs and touched the delicious purples and rouge reds. She felt furry bristles on the petals. A softness like Kleenex. The garden had bloomed triumphantly in the past few weeks. Lilacs of every sort erupted in a twenty foot tapestry just outside the main entrance of the Lotus estate. Sadie supposed from above that it resembled a postage stamp swimming in the ocean of yellow that marks the estate proper.<br />
She plucked a stem and tucked the floret behind Nephthys’s right ear. Her almond eyes swam for a second, her breath caught.<br />
“Thank you, Sadie.”<br />
“It wasn’t me.” Sadie replied. “Not this time.”<br />
Nephthys took a step back. Her ebony skin had a slight sheen. Her eyes lowered as if unable to look Sadie in the eye.<br />
“Thank you, Kali.”<br />
‘The Egyptian is beautiful.’ Sadie heard in her mind. ‘She is kin, yes’?<br />
“She is now.” Sadie said out loud.<br />
“What?” Nephthys asked.<br />
‘She is Mahakala?’ The voice boomed in Sadie’s head. Kali raised one of Sadie’s hands and touched Nephthys’s face. She stepped closer. Sadie gritted her teeth.<br />
‘Stop it.’ She thought.<br />
‘No.’<br />
‘Now!’<br />
Sadie stepped away as Nephthys watched her angle strangely towards the pagoda.<br />
“She says your welcome.” Sadie said.<br />
Nephthys bent and placed the spade and shovel in a lock box bought specifically for Sadie. She turned the master lock, securing the potential weapons safely. Sadie glanced back at her. Nephthys smiled sheepishly.<br />
“Just in case.”<br />
Sadie nodded. “I get it.” ‘Get what mortal?’<br />
‘Nothing’.<br />
‘Say it again.’<br />
‘Why’?<br />
‘Say it’.<br />
Sadie sighed. ‘Lilac and lemon’.<br />
Kali purred in her mind. ‘I like it’.<br />
‘So do I!’<br />
Sadie popped open a beer and rested the bottle against her cheek. The coolness spread across her face, numbing the left side.<br />
“The situation is getting easier isn’t it?” Nephthys said. She took a long look at Sadie, her hands on her hips.<br />
“I guess you could say that.” Sadie said. “She is so strong though. Sometimes I wonder if she’s just biding her time.”<br />
“Playing coy?”<br />
“Waiting for the right moment.”<br />
“I don’t like that you have a terrible goddess inside you that wants the dissolution of all time and lap the blood of her victims.”<br />
It was said in playful jest but Sadie knew that a tinge of fear was attached. ‘Say it again’. Sadie sat hard on the floor and breathed deeply. What she wouldn’t give for the delicious warmth right now. Just one line or maybe two. Especially after such a good day in the garden. The delicious warmth would ignite her soul, focus her troubled thoughts.<br />
But that was lunacy. Any drug now was wrought with the potential of ceding all control to Kali. That she couldn’t do. A passing thought of Nephthys bathed in blood swam into her mind. She shut it out quickly.<br />
‘What was that’? Kali asked.<br />
‘Nothing. Go to sleep’.<br />
‘Say it again.’<br />
Sadie licked her lips and willed the thought clearly. She let it dance in her mind, embroidered it with all the colors of the garden. ‘Lilac and lemon’. Kali purred again.<br />
A soft knock rapped at the pagoda door. Sadie recognized the cadence. Her stomach rumbled inside her. Nephthys opened a series of locks and peeked outside.<br />
“I have rice for you.” A voice said softly.<br />
Sadie’s stomach rumbled again. Once or twice a week Fudo San had made sure fresh food was delivered to the pagoda. Most often it was rice and vegetables. Sometimes smoked fish or berries. Nephthys took two containers into her arms and bowed.<br />
“Are you new? We haven’t seen you before.” Nephthys said.<br />
Warning lights went off in Sadie’s mind. “What is it?”<br />
She stepped to the door and spied a tiny man, hunched over slightly. He had bright, hawk eyes and a shaved head. His stubby arms and gait belied the confidence in which he stood. Sadie wondered if a muscular disease was hidden beneath the simple, gray robe.<br />
“I am.” He said slowly. “I just recently arrived at the monastery.”<br />
Sadie knew the monastery was a retreat still within the city limits. It harbored monks as well as anybody else that needed solace from the ‘Descendant’ situation. Fudo San owned the monastery as had the Maharishi-ten before him. She knew the monastery was safe. Still. She hadn’t seen this man before.<br />
“Well, thank you.” Nephthys said and closed the pagoda door.<br />
Steam wafted from the top container. Sadie’s mouth watered at the mixed aromas of rice and vegetables. She took the top container and lifted the lid.<br />
“Oh, lordy.” Nephthys said from the kitchen. She rummaged through a cabinet, produced two plates and silverware. “That smells so good.”<br />
“You bet!” Sadie said.<br />
She dipped her nose in the container and breathed deeply.<br />
“What’s in the other one? They never bring us two.”<br />
“Don’t know yet mama.” Sadie chirped. She carefully placed the top container on the floor and reached for the bottom. As she lifted the lid she knew something was wrong right away. No steam or odor emanated from it. Suddenly, she lurched back as if pulled forcibly from behind. Sadie screamed and kicked out, knocking the container sideways. Nephthys was beside her instantly. “What is it?”<br />
Then she saw it. Ambling out slowly, its pincers snapping open and its tail in the air, a scorpion crawled out and into the open.<br />
Nephthys gasped. “It cannot be.”<br />
“Oh no.” Sadie said softly. She knew what it meant. They both did.<br />
“He can’t have found us.” Nephthys stared in horror at the arachnid. Sadie’s eyes blinked with tears. She put her face in her hands.<br />
“He knows. My husband knows we are here.” Nephthys stared out the window at the sprawling estate. She placed a hand on Sadie’s shoulder. “We have to call Hank right now.” She said. “Set knows we are here.”<br />
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http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-67092303288310816452019-05-07T19:42:00.000-07:002019-05-07T19:42:52.393-07:00Hecate Descends<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
She awoke in the dark. A dark sky. She looked down at her hands. They were milky. She stretched each finger, inspected blood red fingernails. She reached up, felt her face. It was warm. Heated. Her fingertips felt the contours, the shape.<br />
She knew her name. Hecate. But she didn’t know the body. The body was a stranger. Her body was like a passerby, something fleeting, ghostly. She could still sense the bodiless. They were here too. But they were silent, quieted, She probed out. Yes. They were there but she felt them as if, like her body, they were not hers.<br />
I am Hecate. She thought. Of the Titans.<br />
Hecate stood. She ran her hands through red woven silk. She straightened her back, felt a popping in her spine.<br />
I must think carefully on this.<br />
A wetness settled on her face. She felt it drip down, warm against her skin. She raised her hands slowly, collected the wetness onto a fingertip. The wetness came from her nose as well. She sniffed. But the world was blurry now, Hecate wiped at her sockets. She squinted at tawny leaves that had collected around her, on the ground. She wondered how she’d found herself there. Had she been taken? Staring at the moon, she heard howling. First one or two than a whole chorus. She smiled. But there was a crashing sound as well. She tasted something on her tongue. The orange and brown tree leaves were just an assemblage of many. Perhaps ten to twelve large trees had all deposited leaves in a disarray.<br />
Hecate looked past them and saw the dark churning. A rolling rhythm with beads of white on the top crash outward, downward. The ground underneath her feet suddenly felt flaccid. Hecate shivered. She watched the ocean waves blast onto the shore. She felt as if they were polishing the surface where they crashed. She looked at the glossy sand and walked out to it. She knelt. It’s cold! She looked right then left then right again and spied a pier a short distance away. She felt a pull towards it. She turned to stare at it. It was speckled in lights. From where she stood, they were tiny orbs. They reminded her of stars, like the ones above her head. Or perhaps fixed fireflies frozen in time. She wanted to reach out to them, hold them in her fingers. But even more than that, she wanted to taste the ocean.<br />
Hecate slipped out of the sheer white dress she had woken up in. She felt it fall down her back and onto her feet. She heard a whistle from somewhere close and observed a man also on the water’s edge. He stared at her, his head slowly shaking.<br />
Hecate’s attention went back to the water. Its icy grip at her ankles, she waded in. A crash sent the taste of salt onto her tongue. She knew the current was strong, already she was shoved this way and that. She rocked as the waves came in. She jumped, headfirst, felt the violent jolt as air was forced out of her lungs. The wave rolled onto her, she felt it like a cutting palpitation on her back and legs. She stood in neck high water. She gasped, danced back to the water’s edge.<br />
Again Hecate felt the pull. She glanced at the lights to her left and swung left, picking up her dress in stride, headed towards the pull. Hecate plunged down the beach at almost a gallop. She stopped to slip the dress back, although couldn’t really say why. Her nakedness didn’t matter. She found after awhile, her legs were tired. They trembled and she had to sit. But still that pull called out to her.<br />
What is it? She thought.<br />
Hecate stared up at the full moon and began an incantation. Her wet hair in her face, she brushed it smoothly back with a shaking hand. She needed the heat. The water had numbed her.<br />
She spoke aloud, forcefully, but quickly realized that her words were having no effect. Nothing was manifesting to her will. Her words might as well have been meaningless. Oh no. She tried again, then again. Nothing. Hecate hesitated, probed outward to the bodiless. They were there but faint. They would come but were powerless? Was that true? She felt the power in her lingering. A potential as yet untapped but couldn’t call out to it fully. It was as if her magic was only a vestigial spark of what it had been. She wanted to cry out, rage at the churning black in front of her. She seethed through gritted teeth. The bodiless were apathetic. Their shapes darker than the surrounding night. They waited. What are you waiting for? Help me! But like her magic, the ancient ones existed in abeyance.<br />
Hecate found herself breathing hard and tried to calm herself. She looked at the pier, it was closer now. She could be underneath it in a short time. Soon, she looked up at cross beams and smelled rotting wood. Above, she heard others. Their voices echoed off the girder, booming down.<br />
Hecate felt the pull again. It tugged at her mind. It was like an itch. But she was here. She was at the pier, still it pulled.<br />
“You shouldn’t be here.” A voice said in the dark.<br />
Hecate startled, she hadn’t noticed the man sitting on one of the giant beams that support the pier. He dipped his head in measured civility. His eyes never left her though. Even in the dark, she felt them on her.<br />
“I’m allowed passage anywhere.” She said.<br />
“Nah. I don’t think so. Not wearing that.”<br />
Hecate looked down at the dress that clung to her wet skin. She saw the breasts pulling the cotton tight, her pubic area doing the same. The man took a step forward. He tried to smile, rubbed at his lips. He was of a middle age, perhaps half a century. He had dark, glittery eyes and a hard, lined face. His wiry frame gave him the appearance of a cricket. But she didn’t want this one to chirp too loud.<br />
As he got closer, Hecate backed further into the dark, toward the adjacent beam opposite to where he had been sitting. She walked back deliberately, turning to her left and then left again. The man followed, as if he were hunting.<br />
“You shouldn’t have come down here.” She heard him say. “It’s not safe.”<br />
“What is it you want?”<br />
Hecate ducked behind another beam, crouched and took a few paces back toward where he had approached her. On her hands and knees, she crawled forward. Again her mind was pulled by that strange sensation to head further down the water’s edge. To go south.<br />
A hand came down and gripped her by the hair. Hecate was thrown back onto a beam. She felt warmth where her skull had cracked against the wooden support.<br />
“Fucking bitch!” The man punched her hard in the stomach,then laid atop her, his hand on her mouth. “You dirty fucking hooker. You meeting a John here? That why you came fucking naked?”<br />
Hecate squirmed underneath him, felt hot breath on her face. His other hand on her breasts, he gyrated his hips into her, grinding against her till she felt him hard against her inner thigh.<br />
“Don’t you make a fucking sound.” He whispered. But it was too late. Hecate smashed the rock she had been holding into his face. He screamed as blood spurted from his nose. Hecate felt it spray onto her face and tasted it on her lips. She brought the rock up and thrashed him on the side of the head. He toppled back, against the pier beam and gurgled something incoherent. She brought the rock down again. Then again.<br />
Hecate leaped toward him, strode silently to stand within kissing distance then brought the rock down multiple times in quick succession. It was a savage array of blows.<br />
As she looked down at the mess at her feet, she felt it again. South. Hecate bent close until she was at the man’s ear. “Bodiless.” She said quietly. “I need answers.”<br />
She sat him upright, his wet, glazed eyes stared up towards the bottom of the pier. Hecate frowned. She turned his head towards her.<br />
“Can you hear me?”<br />
She waited. The man didn’t stir. Hecate stared down at him, chewed at her lip.<br />
“Bodiless!” She snapped. “You will liaise with me!”<br />
Again she waited. Something was wrong. All of her gifts had waned. They felt faint, just out of reach. The man coughed. Blood splayed out in a mist. Hecate jerked his chin toward her.<br />
“What has happened? Is this the Titans seeking retribution?”<br />
The corpse in front of her gurgled softly. His mouth moving faintly. Hecate bent her hear to his mouth. “Tell me departed, what is happening?”<br />
The man’s mouth widened as if he was going to take a bite of an apple than a voice that hadn’t been his in life uttered: “You are in front of the veil.”<br />
Hecate gasped and stood quickly. Of course. Why hadn’t she discerned it? Or had she and was merely experiencing mortality like a newborn?<br />
She looked south, felt the itch come back. South.<br />
Hecate went out to the water’s edge and washed her hands and feet. She ducked her head for good measure. The veil is asunder. She thought. Slowly, in ankle deep ocean water and under a bright moon, the goddess Hecate began to walk south. <br />
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http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-20593346310901823882019-04-17T18:20:00.000-07:002019-04-17T18:20:30.534-07:00Hecate <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The hallways were ash gray this time of night. An exit sign on either end spilled an ethereal neon glow onto the floor. It was silent save for the light hum of the air conditioner. Hecate could feel the slight breeze coming from the vents on the ceiling. As her eyes adjusted, the pristine walls were slick like varnish. She smelled linen. The New Los Angeles Hospice Center was in its sleeping hours. To Hecate, it was as if the Center were itself convalescing, readying itself for the big sleep.<br />
She made her way down the corridor, then turned right and continued onward. As her slipped feet shuffled past, she squinted to make out the door number. Twenty one, twenty two, twenty three…<br />
There were so many. So many souls she would aid in passing. Most were ready, some not. It didn’t matter, she would aid them anyway.<br />
As she got to room twenty eight, she stopped. She put her left hand onto the door and slightly pushed, slipping in. The old woman, Margaret, lay on the bed sleeping. Her shallow gasps and wheezing drowned out the sound of the ventilation system above.<br />
Hecate walked to the bedside, her hand brushing the regulator that Margaret had been using to administer medication for the respiratory disease that was killing her. As the devise toppled to the floor, Margaret’s eyes shot open. At first she didn’t recognize her hospice nurse standing over her, Hecate waited until recognition came and the woman tried to sit up. Hecate smothered a shiver as the old woman shook her head at the death she knew had come. Even if she wanted to stop it now, it was too late.<br />
Hecate put a finger to her lip, indicated quiet. Margaret was too weak to scream anyway. Soon, her shaking limbs succumbed and she lay stolid in her bed. She watched as Hecate’s small fingers picked up a syringe and moved to the far cabinet on the other side of the room. She opened the glass, plucked the small bottle of Nembutal off the shelf and returned bedside. Margaret wanted to protest, shaking her head again. Hecate leaned in and heard the old woman whisper, “Wait.”<br />
“It can’t be helped.” Hecate said out loud. The sudden volume crashed into the room like cymbals. She plunged the syringe in the Nembutal and pulled back on the plunger. Margaret’s face crumpled as she watched her nurse prepare the cocktail. Her knuckles white, she gripped the bed rail and wheezed loudly. Hecate waited, her face composed as Margaret thrashed in her bed.<br />
“This was you.” Hecate said. “You cannot turn back now.”<br />
Margaret wanted to roar, her hands in fists in front of her. But her body had long past given in to the ruin of time. Hecate was reminded of the Dylan Thomas poem.<i> ‘Do not go gentle into that good night’</i>. Hecate advanced until she hovered over Margaret, noting the old woman’s frantic trembling, the look of disdain in her eyes as she stared up. Hecate could tell she was having trouble focusing the dark. She blinked as if blind, gazing on something behind and to the left of where Hecate stood. Spittle ran down her chin and Hecate wiped it clean. The woman violently turned her head.<br />
<i>‘Rage, rage against the dying of the light’</i>. Hecate placed her right hand on the woman’s forehead, felt the perspiration.<br />
“Did I not tell you this would be how it is?” Hecate asked. She felt Margaret shudder, swallow hard. Then, Hecate felt them. She whirled as the bodiless filled the room. Their shadows blacker than the night cast opaque silhouettes onto the walls and floor. They were a mass, a solid black. They couldn’t be touched yet still they took up space.<br />
Margaret didn’t see them. She didn’t have to. The creases in her forehead formed tight lines as she stared outward. Hecate sunk the needle into her left arm and pushed the plunger, sending the Nembutal coursing through Margaret’s circulatory system. Slowly, she withdrew the needle, placed it in her smock pocket.<br />
“How long?” Margaret gasped.<br />
“Not long.”<br />
Margaret nodded, her lip quivered. The bodiless took notice. They moved as if dancing around the room. Margaret spotted them this time. She is betwixt and between. Hecate thought. Margaret looked up and around as the bodiless performed a kind of waltz around the bed. Her leathery face split into a smile.<br />
“Do you see them?” She whispered.<br />
“Oh, yes. Often.”<br />
“Do they leave here with you?”<br />
“They have always been with me so I suppose.”<br />
Hecate felt the silence now surrounding her and knew the bodiless were returning to where they reside until called upon. It was a special kind of departure, like a warm breeze or the patter of a dog’s paws walking in front of you.<br />
“Don’t be scared.” Hecate said. “When you get sleepy, just let the sleep come.”<br />
“It’s not yet my time.”<br />
“It is.”<br />
“You did this to me.” Margaret said, a wail in her voice as it cracked. “You, lady death. This is you.”<br />
Hecate slid her hand across the bed, onto the blanket and pressed her palm against the woman’s hand. She felt the little strength that Margaret still had, sensed her disappointment. Margaret pushed herself up into sitting position, a sharp wheeze, the hoarse cough as she gripped Hecate’s hand.<br />
“I know your secret.” She said.<br />
“It’s not a secret.”<br />
“You’re Descended. A goddess without grace. Is that why you do this? Why this is you?”<br />
Hecate found that she couldn’t wait to get out of the room. <br />
“You speak truth.” She said “Now lay back.”<br />
A clarity filled Hecate’s mind as Margaret settled into the bed and closed her eyes. She glanced left and noticed again that the bodiless had returned.<br />
<i>They’ve come back.</i> Hecate thought. <i>But why?</i><br />
Her eyes darted around the room as the discarnate shapes moved to and fro. Back and forth. Their spectral forms inky in the darkness. She watched as they gathered closer, Margaret’s breathing slowed. She choked out a laugh.<br />
“Silly goddess.” She said.<br />
Hecate frowned, the bodiless circled the bed.<br />
“What?”<br />
“The secret is not lost on either of us, Titan.”<br />
“What do you mean?”<br />
“Oh, I’ve known your secret for quite some time.” She giggled. “You’re Descended.”<br />
“So, I’ve stated.”<br />
“Yes child, but so was I.”<br />
Hecate felt the air leave her lungs, heard herself gasp. For a second, she stood struck dumb, unable to process the grief she was experiencing. Her personal awareness stared back at her, as if from another body. Margaret’s face in repose, Hecate stared down at the mottled skin on her arms and hands. Even in the dark, she could make out the splotchy purple and red covering the old woman’s body. She wondered vaguely when the mottling had taken hold. Usually it’s within the last few days but Hecate had just seen Margaret yesterday and no mottling had been apparent.<br />
<i>She knew.</i> Hecate thought. <i>She knew that death was coming long before I even stepped through the door.</i> Hecate reached down and pulled the bed sheet off of Margaret’s feet. There it was. The mottling had begun in her feet and spread to her hands all in one day. Yes. Margaret had known. But that wasn’t what disturbed Hecate. She heard once again the woman’s iron voice in her head. <i>So was I.</i> Margaret had been a Descendant. She too had woken up in a mortal body. But which? Which goddess? She had Descended into an aged, silvery-haired body. A crone.<br />
Hecate stepped back violently and nearly tumbled. She covered her mouth. A Crone? She lurched forward and stared into the face of Margaret, looking for similarities. A mole, or cluster of freckles would confirm her worst fear. It couldn’t be. She thought. She had often spied in other women evidence of her own facial structure, wondering if her triple form had Descended right along with her essence. She knew she was the maiden form but there was a chance that her mother and crone forms had Descended as well. If they did, were there other, older versions of herself in the world?<br />
Abruptly, Hecate touched Margaret’s face, traced her cheek bones. She had known. The old woman had known all along.<br />
Wasn’t that evidence enough? Hecate gritted her teeth, shaken by the knowledge that Margaret had imparted on her death bed. As she gazed down, she wondered if she had, in truth, just administered a deadly jolt of Nembutal to herself. Was she now staring into the face she would become? There was no way to know for sure. Still, it was a long time before she could shake off the naked emptiness and leave Margaret’s room.</div>
http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-18671430012023749602019-02-02T15:21:00.000-08:002019-02-02T15:21:46.150-08:00Hank and Ray<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The smile dropped immediately from Hank's face as he walked into Ray Perry's property and looked around. He spied the side door that probably served as the entrance to Deanna's on again off again fuck toy to the left. The house was dilapidated, grimy shingles and flaked paint. It had once been sky blue with large sash windows. An ornate set of trees and shrubbery decorated the outside. Overall, it had the makings to be cozy. Now, half of the visible windows had been boarded up giving the appearance of scars. The landscaping had long been abandoned. Overgrown weeds and grass were unkempt. Hank lifted his boots, stepped over a pile of dog feces, glided past an old bicycle, its front tire missing, handlebars a crooked smile.<br />
<i>What am I doing here?</i> He thought.<br />
He approached the side door, gave it three knocks. His grated nerves chafed and aching, he stretched his back, willed his teeth to unclench.<br />
"Yeah!" He heard from the inside.<br />
"Hi, I'm looking for Ray!" He called out hoarsely.<br />
"What about?" The voice snapped.<br />
"It's about Stephanie Montgomery. I'm working a case."<br />
"You a cop?"<br />
"No."<br />
"Then get the fuck off my property."<br />
"Look Ray, Deanna sent me." Hank lied.<br />
A full minute passed before Hank heard the click and clang of a dead bolt being unlocked. When the door opened, Hank put on a plastic smile, held out his hand.<br />
"Hi. I'm Hank Dolan. I'm a private investigator hired by Deanna Montgomery. Can we talk?"<br />
Ray Perry was exactly what Hank expected. He had a lanky, sloven appearance, suspicious eyes, sloppy except for carefully maintained facial hair. Hank spread out his hands as the door opened and stepped inside. He was led to the kitchen, sat down at the head of the table.<br />
"You want some water?" Ray asked, not turning from the sink.<br />
"I'm fine, thanks."<br />
Hank smelled something burnt, turned his attention away from the rat traps set up behind the front door and near the fridge. He forced his lids onto Ray who stared clumsily, a smile that said nothing on his face.<br />
"I don't know where she is."<br />
Hank took out his notebook. "I'm trying to piece together Stephanie's last moves before she went missing. When was the last time you saw her?"<br />
"The last time? Oh, I wager it was a few days before. Me and her mom had a row I remember. Always accusing me of this or that."<br />
Hank felt a cold breeze coming from a vent above the refrigerator. <i>Did he just turn on the air in November? </i>"You guys argue a lot?"<br />
"Me and Deanna? Oh, no more than most I suppose."<br />
"What were you arguing about?"<br />
"I thought you wanted to talk about Stephie. You interested in me or her?"<br />
"Yes, of course." Hank said drily. "Do you have any idea where Stephanie may have gone? Are there friends, a boyfriend maybe, that Deanna doesn't know about?"<br />
"I know most of her friends. Including that one who claims to be Descended. But Stephanie don't date, so's far as I can tell."<br />
A tight smile crossed Hank's face. "Yes, I know of Hecate. So Stephanie doesn't date at all? She's pretty. I'm surprised by that."<br />
Ray shrugged. "She's a piece of work though, just like her mother. Got an ass on her."<br />
"What? How do you mean?"<br />
"Oh, you know. Got that tight little pretty ass and attitude to match. Ain't surprised no man wants nothin but a quick tap then move on."<br />
Hank wiped at his eyes, noticed a definite chill in the room. He looked back at the vent near the ceiling. Ray had turned on the air conditioner. It was clear that he didn't want guests and would freeze them out if he could.<br />
"So you've never seen a guy over there?"<br />
"Nah, not really. She shows the interest I guess. I don't know a boy who's seeing her."<br />
Hank felt uneasy. He was unsure how far he could continue this line of questioning. "Well, she is what seventeen?"<br />
"She turns eighteen next month." Ray finished.<br />
Hank accepted this with a nod. "So you two close at all?"<br />
"Me and Stephie?"<br />
"Yeah."<br />
"Oh, I don't know. I party with her sometimes. Me and Deanna both."<br />
"How do you mean?"<br />
"The girls can't buy liquor yet so every once in a while we'll spring for a case of beer, let the girls join in."<br />
"Uh-huh."<br />
Hank turned away, feeling something cold in the pit of his stomach. He had interrogated many sexual deviants on his time with the force. Most often they showed lack of empathy, emotional maladaption, and hostility. Ray Perry certainly was giving off the <i>creeper</i> vibe.<br />
"You know what though?" Ray leaned in close. "I wouldn't be surprised if pretty Stephie just up and gone."<br />
Hank weighed his words. "Pretty Stephie?"<br />
"That's what I used to call her."<br />
<i>Past tense?</i> Hank mind cataloged everything Ray was saying for later.<br />
"-You know, cause it rhymes. She thought it was cute."<br />
<i>But it doesn't rhyme idiot. </i>Hank thought.<br />
"Right,-"<br />
As he said this, Ray's left arm shot to the kitchen counter and grabbed a half full coffee pot. In one long arc he brought it down smashing into Hank's skull. Hank crumpled onto the floor, blood pouring from a shard of glass on the base of his head.<br />
Ray was running now. He fled the kitchen, stumbling over a bag of trash near the door. On the floor, Hank picked himself up, checked the damp spot and blood that was flowing from his head. Everything was fuzzy, a hazy gray. He stood in foggy shock. When the screen door banged shut, he felt the apartment rock and tumbled outside. He smeared his forehead, coughed hard just as Ray turned left at the base of the house and disappeared.<br />
<i>Goddammit.</i> Hank climbed to his knees then feet and burst into a sprint. He made a left, whipped past crippled siding, an old dog house. He sped past the side of the house and spotted Ray leaping over a back fence. He shot through the back yard, noticed the gate had been left open. He followed Ray onto another property, noticed the cold burn on the top of his head. <i>I'm gonna need stitches.</i><br />
Hank stopped at a shed, its rusty metal thudded then banged. Catching his breath, he moved to the side. Again, something clanked inside. <i>Oh Ray, you complete dipshit.</i> He picked up a tire iron that off to the side and tapped the shed twice.<br />
"Come out asshole."<br />
Nothing.<br />
Hank stood back and waited. The throbbing in his head was like blue fire and he wondered vaguely if he had a concussion.<br />
"Get the fuck out here now!"<br />
The shed door squeaked open. Ray slowly stepped outside, his eyes wide and glassy.<br />
"That's not how I take my coffee Ray."<br />
Hank turned toward him, smearing more blood across his cheek and forehead. He brought his hand down and gripped the tire iron like a baseball bat.<br />
"You're gonna answer me." He said.<br />
"I don't know shit!" Ray screamed shrilly.<br />
"Who would want to disappear that girl Ray? Was it you?"<br />
Ray stepped back, fear visible on his face. Hank looked squarely at him, took a deep breath.<br />
"Shit, it was probably her Mom!"<br />
Hank noted the bitterness in Ray's tone. He sounded like a jaded lover, somebody thrown to the side. A discarded piece of garbage.<br />
"What are you talking about?"<br />
"I mean they fight all the time!" Ray gasped. "Deanna probably did her herself."<br />
Hank side stepped past the shed, holding the iron up and in Ray's field of vision. He swung it cautiously, observing Ray's wild eyes and stilted pose. "Let me get this straight. You think Deanna caused Stephanie to disappear? That's you on the record."<br />
"I'm just saying they bicker constantly. And Deanna has a drug issue. On the wrong day..."<br />
He let the words trail off. Even without a coffee pot to the head, Hank would have thought Ray the equivalent of human sewage. He emitted a short, sarcastic scoff.<br />
"I think you're full of shit." He muttered.<br />
"Whatever. But you don't know those bitches like I do."<br />
"What does that mean?"<br />
"I lived with her! Seen them in all their bullshit!"<br />
Hank forced a smile. He dropped the tire iron, letting it clang at his feet. As he walked off, he heard Ray cursing. It sounded panicked. <i>Had Ray and Stephanie been fucking? </i>He asked himself. He could sense that something was wrong in that household. Had Deanna found out and made her daughter disappear? Or Ray?<br />
Hank walked back to his car in fading daylight. He noticed the buzzing of a streetlamp overhead. As he started up the Sedan, he took another long look at Ray Perry's shack and wondered if Stephanie was somewhere between the walls. He could almost hear screaming. </div>
http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-75999842134453995112019-02-02T13:39:00.000-08:002019-02-02T13:39:15.915-08:00Hecate's Triumph<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A faint smell of incense and herbs penetrated the smell of animal fur at the outdoor spice market on 32nd avenue. It was a pleasing smell, one that conjured nostalgia into Hecate. Still, the feeling wasn't the same as before the Descending. A rooftop market, the open air and warm breezes made her think of Thrace but it wasn't the same. How could it be? It was not yet time for the ceremony. She knew they wouldn't start without her but she hated to make the Africans wait, even if her witchcraft was ineffectual now. She would still try.<br />
A drumming could be heard over the conversation of patrons going about their shopping. Every kind of herb and spice available. Some sellers carried candles, snakeskin of every species were displayed in a number of areas. The bodies of chickens and monkeys hanged in a few. Everything the Sangomas might need was available here. Hecate knew that her white painted face and braided hair was a shock. She saw it in their eyes as she made her way to the far corner of the rooftop where her rite would take place.<br />
Hecate sighed. Before Descending, she had been the goddess of all witchcraft. It was no surprise that she'd partake in South African magic. Now, she stuck out and felt almost ridiculous. They were welcoming, yes, even if they had no conception of who she was. But there was a weariness in their eyes, a holding back.<br />
She wondered what others would say if they were to witness the ritual she was about to perform. Many would say it was horrifying and cruel. A savage throwback to a forgotten time. Hecate knew better. The calling of the ancestors was a powerful ceremony that could just work. Who was to say?<br />
She heard murmurings as she walked past and kept her gaze low. She heard a few whispering, the words<i> 'pale trumpet'</i> audible a few times. She knew why. The trumpet was the screams of a dying goat as its throat was cut during the ceremony. The trumpet to awaken the ancestors. Other animals could be used but the Africans preferred a goat. For whatever reason, its scream was the correct intonation.<br />
She thought again of the pale trumpet and swallowed hard. Was this nickname something more sinister? Was she herself the trumpet? She knew that humans, especially tiny children had been used in these sacrifices before. She had personally presided over many, of many peoples, before Descending. It had been what it was and it had been in sacrifice to her. She loved the bleating, the cries and drumming and rattles.<i> For months I've been here now.</i> She thought. <i>And the closest I can find to my beloved magic is a rooftop in New Los Angeles. Not surrounded by Thracians or Greeks but Africans who haven't forgotten the old ways. </i><br />
"Pale trumpet."<br />
A voice said from behind her. It was a man she had seen before. Dark and sinewy, he looked out of place in his dress clothes as if he were attending Sunday school.<br />
"Hello."<br />
His large hand motioned for her to follow and she did. As they walked, he put on a bulbous hat that covered his unusually large ears. A large tent opened and Hecate entered. Incense filled her nose. She was directed to a chair in the middle of the area and surrounded by three attendants who would be indispensable when the ritual began. She unbuttoned her blouse and took it off, handing it to one of the attendants. The nakedness was also essential, to excite the male ancestors as they awoke. Her red hair was pulled and smoothed back with warm water til it shined like the head of a puff adder native to these peoples home. She flicked her tongue and let her eyes bore into them. Did they know who she was? Unlikely.<br />
She sat and felt the air pressure drop. Her ears popped and she smiled. One by one the attendants began to chant, some stomped their feet, others whooped and screamed.<br />
Hecate closed her eyes, let her essence billow out like the incense. Dogs that had been brought to the rooftop began to howl. She felt weightless as if she'd been picked up and placed on a cushion. Her equilibrium strayed and she began to lean to the left. An attendee righted her with hands on her head and shoulders. Hecate felt herself succumb and her mouth parted. She leaned her head back, rolled it to the side. A bursting green glow filled the tent as if accent lights had been placed on the floor. Through the clouds of smoke she saw shadows standing here and there. <i>The bodiless.</i> She thought. <i>The ancestors of these people.</i> She didn't even need the trumpet, they had come, were probably evident as soon as she arrived at the rooftop. Hecate tasted ash on her tongue and spied the small fire that had been built in the tent. More coal colored incense was being added as the bodiless moved back and forth. Each time she blinked they appeared somewhere else. One was off to her side in one instant then inches from her face the next. She gritted her teeth, felt sweat form on her forehead. It was carefully wiped away. The green glow persisted, deepened, took on a pungent hue. It was now almost blue, thick like syrup. The bodiless stretched across the tent until they were all one shadow. A dark mass, a shape. Outisde, she knew the moon had just been uncovered by cloud. But it was a new moon. She felt it. It was delicious and cool. Hecate let her awareness fan out, let it grope all who bore witness. And it was there. And she rose into the bodiless.<br />
The rooftop was now chaos as the howling had gotten crazed, uncontrollable. Gusts of wind blew incense and oils onto the ground. Sellers tried to stake down the tents only to see them picked up and blown like newspaper. The greenish hue spread across the rooftop causing some to scream in terror.<br />
Hecate felt hands on her head and shoulders, chanting in her ear. The tent flaps blew outward a a gust from inside threatened to topple the enclosure. She stared up at the bodiless who were above them all. They spun and spun, tighter as Hecate's magic drove harder and harder.<br />
"The ancestors have come!" She screamed.<br />
Her attendees screamed and she heard the goat pulled within arm's reach. It bleated, it's fur soft on her hand. She was given a knife. The bodiless were now moving through the tent in quick, jagged, bursts. They whipped across her face as she drew the knife across the goat's throat and heard the trumpet sound. A silver bowl was brought to catch the blood as it poured onto the ground and onto Hecate's bare feet. She felt its warmth running between her toes.<br />
"Sangoma!" The man from before said beside her. "Have the ancestors come? Whom do you see? What masks do they wear?"<br />
<i>The moon is the key.</i> She thought. <i>The gate of resurrection. </i>She smiled up at the man with the bulbous hat.<br />
"There is a budding morrow in midnight!" She responded.<br />
"I don't understand witch! Have the ancestors answered?"<br />
<i>The magos persists.</i> She thought.<br />
She sensed it, not nearly as powerful as before Descending. But there was a residual clarity, an awareness of the bodiless and gestating undulation of the magos itself. Hecate slumped off the chair and onto the rooftop floor. She felt blood on her calves and thighs. An attendee stood over her and leaned her head back. Her mouth opened, her tongue extended. Bile from the goat was poured into her mouth and she gagged. Her eyes watered as she swallowed. To her right, she blurrily saw others quickly shearing the goat that had bled out. They worked furiously, four or five hunched over it. They brought a bangle to her. A necklace fashioned of the sheared goat fur, it went around her neck. Smaller ones were placed as bracelets onto her wrist.<br />
"Sangoma!" The man said from beside her.<br />
Hecate was given a large plastic cup of beer. She guzzled it, tasted the bitterness as her senses blurred.<br />
"Sangoma!"<br />
She was given another cup, then another. Her shoulders softened. She looked up and saw the moon slowly realizing that the tent had been blown apart. She looked down at the ground and saw small streams of blood. The bodiless were still present, great darknesses here and there. Hecate's face darkened, she drank more beer. The man pulled at her arm. Somebody stepped in front of him.<br />
Hecate saw what he was doing, felt his hands on her waist, trying to take her from here.<br />
Her attendees stood in front of him, waved the knife in his face, threatened to cut him. He backed away.<br />
"Sangoma!" He screamed. "Sangoma!" </div>
http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-81492812387497446032018-11-29T16:12:00.000-08:002018-11-29T16:12:06.221-08:00Magnus the Lesser. An intro. Of Hecate's Pale Offering<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Magnus the Lesser, or what the acolytes referred to as the <i>beneficiary, </i>stepped into the Tower of Man. A doorman, probably in his twenties, put on a plastic smile and greeted him. 'Hello sir'. The lobby smelled of cleaning products and carpet cleaner. The sound of chatter was quickly hushed as he appeared and resumed as he passed.<br />
"Good morning, Eric." He grunted as he passed the reception desk. When he didn't receive a reply, he looked up from his phone to find both his employee and security engaged in a quiet conversation off near the corner of the room. A man from the outside was there. Faint, insistent arguing was well concealed but still apparent. Magnus walked to the reception desk and put down his briefcase, catching a second of the conversation that was being held a few yards away. It was a trespassing issue, but one not likely to be resolved amicably.<br />
"You must be invited to enter the Tower, sir." A security guard said firmly. "We no longer allow visitors to the Tower without expressed permission."<br />
The man said something Magnus couldn't make out and flashed what appeared to be an old invitation, one which would have allowed him entry back when Pious had been the Church of Man. Those times were over. <i>Pious had been soft.</i> He thought.<i> </i><br />
His birth brother, Pious McNally had built the Church of Man into a worldwide conglomerate with far reaching influence. Making billions in the real estate business, Pious had shoveled his fortune into the creation of this temple then just before its completion, found himself murdered inside its walls.<br />
<i>Poor fool.</i><br />
His brother had been the face of the Church. He had been open to the public, an inviting and some say extroverted charismatic who loved his radio sermons and social activities. Magnus was none of those things. As stolid as his brother had been open, Magnus was cut from a different tailor. Even his suits reflected this. Whereas Pious had loved his personal belongings and well thought out wardrobe, Magnus preferred all black all the time. Pious had been <i>showy </i>some heard him remark at his sibling's wake the year prior.<br />
Still, the Church had survived. Flourished in fact since Magnus had taken control. Of course the acolytes knew nothing of the fact he had been a silent partner from the Church's inception. The shock and worry were evident in their faces when he had materialized like a specter a few days after his brother's demise to assume power. But perhaps they did see a ghost. Magnus and Pious had similar features. A high sloping forehead and prominent jowels. Deep, recessed eyes and salt and pepper checkered hair, the two had always looked alike.<br />
As he drew closer, he put on a wooden smile.<br />
"What is the problem?"<br />
Security nodded to him and cleared his throat. "Sir, this gentleman has an old invite pass that was issued when-"<br />
Magnus cut him off. "It's invalid." He said. "We don't allow public entrance into the Tower anymore."<br />
The man scofffed. "But when I got it, it was perfectly valid. Why can't you honor it now?"<br />
Magnus sighed. He had been dealing with these Pious problems for months now- business licenses and real estate contracts, developers still looking to cash in on the Church's sizable fortune.<br />
He thought of having the man simply thrown out of the building. But as much as he despised working in the public domain, a public incident would be worse.<br />
"Sir, this invitation was issued when Pious McNally was the head of operations. Since Pious is now dead, what would you use the invitation for?"<br />
"To see my painting!" The man all but screamed.<br />
Magnus reached out and plucked the invitation from the small, wiry fingers and read it aloud/<br />
"Giovanni Cortan."<i> </i><br />
<i>Oh my! </i>He knew this name. Giovanni Cortan was the artist Pious had commissioned to create a giant ceiling mosaic on the West side of the Tower. Cortan was a famous name in art circles. His pieces commanded top dollar. Magnus himself had been impressed with the mural. A dark, cosmic scene, the gods of yesteryear were depicted as torn to pieces by demons while a vibrant human male ascended to the sky. It was controversial no doubt but a lovely mosaic. Magnus had marveled up at it when he first entered the Tower.<br />
"Mr. Cortan. I'm sorry I didn't recognize you."<br />
"Yes, hello." Cortan replied. "May I pass?"<br />
"Of course. Of course."<br />
Cortan threw a look of disdain at security and shuffled past the reception area and onto the escalator that would take him to the painting's showroom.<br />
Magnus glanced at security who slowly followed him up to the second floor. Magnus waited a full minute before heading up the escalator himself. Goosebumps had appeared on his arms and something in the back of his mind told him that Cortan couldn't be trusted.<br />
As he got to the top of the escalator, he stood struck dumb staring as smoke spilled out from the showroom front entrance. <i>The painting! The damned artist had come to burn it! </i><br />
Magnus ran swiftly into the room, ducking his head as he entered. Cortan and security were wrestling over a lit zippo that had been used to light the fabric streamers that hanged from the ceiling on either side of the mosaic. Magnus turned, looked up as the lit fabric burned up the seam. An orange line crawled steadily closer to the painting that was perhaps four feet above.<br />
Magnus motioned with his left hand. Security let go of Cortan and ran for a fire extinguisher encased in glass on the side wall next to the exit.<br />
"It's too late!" Magnus screamed.<br />
He knew that it wasn't just the painting that was endanger of being engulfed. The entire Tower was at risk if the blaze got out of control.<br />
"Call the fire department!"<br />
Magnus leaped forward, catching Cortan across his face with his left fist. The little artist tumbled then was thrown onto his back.<br />
"What have you done?" Magnus screamed.<br />
"It's a desecration!" Cortan shrieked shrilly. "It's blasphemous and I won't have it!"<br />
"It's not<i> yours</i> to have," Magnus replied and kicked hard into the man's stomach.<br />
From outside he heard sirens and hoped there was little traffic in front of the Tower. He looked up to see the top corner of the <i>Ascendance of Man </i>peeling away like dead skin. He could smell the paint as it shriveled under the heat. Somewhere, Cortan was laughing manically. "The gods have come to us! You're all wrong. They are here!"<br />
"They're husks." Magnus sneered.<br />
Suddenly, the Tower's fire sprinkler system activated and water sprayed down from sprinklers installed around the painting. Cortan fell onto his behind as he realized the masterwork would be saved. He brushed his hand across his forehead, stared up with blood shot eyes as the painting smoked, singed from the fire. Perhaps a four to five feet area had been burned clear away. The area close to the burn was bubbling and raised from the ceiling. Blue and yellow drizzled down the painting in little streams.<br />
"The Church of Man is a farce!" Cortan said. His eyes red from the tears that streamed down, he raised a tiny fist to Magnus. "You're a devil McNally. Just like your brother was."<br />
To Magnus's surprise, the man began to cry. A low, choking sob, Cortan put his hands over his face and his body spasmed in his grief.<br />
"You're a fool, Giovanni." Magnus said quietly. "You see? Look what the gods have done to you? Look at the anguish you're knowing right now, at this second. They don't deserve you Giovanni."<br />
Cortan wiped his face, glanced back up at the ceiling. His mouth quivered. "Well, they don't deserve that." He rasped. From his vantage point, Magnus had to look straight above his head to see the violence that the mosiac depicted. He covered his face to the sprinkler spray and squinted.<br />
"The gods aren't dead McNally." Cortan said.<br />
"No, but they hate us Giovanni. They hate the humanity they've descended into. How could they not?"<br />
"Bah! You don't know McNally. You don't know that."<br />
"But I do. I do know that. It's the reason they stay in hiding."<br />
"They stay in hiding from people like you!"<br />
Magnus turned away as police and fire department spilled into the room. As they hauled Cortan onto his feet, Magnus looked the old artist in the eye. Putting his head down, he mumbled. "No charges will be filed. The old man has been deceived."<br />
"I think it's you who deceive McNally. You're a deceiver."<br />
Magnus heard a rustle from above and thought the painting had become unhinged and was ready to topple from above. Then he remembered that the entire ceiling would have to come down for that to happen. Still, he didn't feel relieved and couldn't say why he felt no real comfort in the painting being saved.<br />
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http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-58487584381056744122018-11-06T14:06:00.001-08:002018-11-06T14:06:16.484-08:00Preston Copeland: RighteousIndignation: Set meets Hecate. #NeonGodsII<a href="https://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/2018/11/set-meets-hecate-neongodsii.html?spref=bl">Preston Copeland: RighteousIndignation: Set meets Hecate. #NeonGodsII</a>: "What is it you want?" Hecate asked. She raised the pitch of her voice just slightly. Set kept his eyes lowered to the water. H...http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-6762535517882836622018-11-06T14:03:00.000-08:002018-11-06T14:03:06.260-08:00Set meets Hecate. #NeonGodsII<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"What is it you want?" Hecate asked.<br />
She raised the pitch of her voice just slightly.<br />
Set kept his eyes lowered to the water. He continued to stare at the fish that swam just underneath the surface. He stretched his fingers, felt sweat run down his back. The goddess was still, unnaturally so. As if she herself were in rigor mortis. Set glanced to his right. Her red hair the color of figs draped down her back. Her lids were half closed, hiding her coal eyes. She waited.<br />
"Draw down the moon for me." He said.<br />
Hecate breathed deeply, her face on the pond below.<br />
"Do you know what they are?" She asked.<br />
Set's face twitched. "The fish?"<br />
Hecate stepped forward, put a hand to her mouth as if she were sharing a secret. "They're red mullet."<br />
Set caught what seemed like pretense in her words. <i>Was she telling the truth?</i><br />
"You see those ones right there?" She continued. "You see what they're doing?"<br />
Set followed her gaze. There was a group of fish thrashing about, swimming atop one another chaotically.<br />
"The red mullet are eating one of their own. They eat their dead."<br />
She broke off as a passerby stepped past.<br />
"They're known to eat a human corpse as well. It's just what they do."<br />
Set felt more and more at a loss as to what the goddess was getting at. <i>Does she mock me? </i>He squinted at the pond. Was it about the corpse? The pigment perhaps. The red, his beloved Kemet. Does she insult his home? Her thin-lipped smile still expressionless, she turned to him. "They come from the family Mullidae."<br />
"Dead eating fish." He said.<br />
"Yes." She replied. "Did your people eat their dead Egyptian?"<br />
Set's mind traveled back. He heard the pyramid text as if it were spoken aloud once again.<br />
<i>the king orders sacrifices, he alone controls them,</i><br />
<i>the king eats humans, feeds on gods;</i><br />
<i>he has them presented on an altar to himself,</i><br />
<i>the king eats their magic, he gulps down their souls, </i><br />
<i>the adults he has for breakfast,</i><br />
<i>the young are lunch,</i><br />
<i>the babies he has for supper, the old ones are too tough to eat, he just burns them on the altar as an offering to himself. </i><br />
She was mocking him. She was an <i>accuser</i>. Set cleared his throat. "Our Heka required no actual ingestion. Our ways disposed of the dead...differently. But that's why I'm here, is it not? The magic of my people was ineffective for reascending. Perhaps you will fare better Greek."<br />
Hecate ignored him. She stepped back from the pond and brushed her hair back behind her left shoulder.<br />
"I will call you Mullus." She said.<br />
<i>Mullus</i>. The insult hanged in the air between them. Hecate sneered and faced the Egyptian god fully. "Yes, it will be Mullus I think. Like the red mullet."<br />
Set managed a weak smile. "As it were." He stepped beside her and paused, studying the goddess of witchcraft. Somewhere he thought he heard a dog howling.<br />
"Will you imbue me with your lunar spirit? Draw down your moon Greek. Perhaps I can reascend us all to our grace. It is worth a try?"<br />
"Why you?"<br />
"Nobody else will try."<br />
He knew he was right. If the goddess herself had attempted it, she would have denied him outright.<br />
"Well?"<br />
Hecate looked at his face. Her gaze unfocused, as if in thought. But there was something else. She appeared almost eager. He saw now the Descendant behind those dark eyes. He shuddered deeply. <br />
"What do you offer?" She asked.<br />
"I can give you information."<br />
"Did you know of the killings last year?"<br />
Set glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. He knew the goddess was testing him. curious to see if he would tell her a lie.<br />
"You mean the Christian at the Basement?" He said furtively.<br />
"Yes."<br />
"I know of it."<br />
Revelation seized Set's mind. There was no way for her to know the whole truth of that matter. She had no idea of Sadie Fuller at all. Truth would be wise unless she got into specifics.<br />
"Was it Descended? They never caught whoever it was."<br />
"Yes, it was."<br />
Hecate gasped, covered her mouth. "Which?"<br />
"I don't know."<br />
Hecate gasped again, made a kissing sound with her lips. "This Descendant...lives still?"<br />
Set thought about this as he stared back at the pond. The Androktasiai had been slaughtered outright by the girl. He would have likely joined them had Dionysus not intervened. If ever given the chance, Set would be sure to enact recompense. But the girl was Descended. She had to be. There was no other explanation.<br />
"The Descendant has been missing for some time." He said.<br />
"Do you know the Christian messiah has come back?"<br />
"What? The Christ rose again?"<br />
Hecate spoke quickly. "Not long after. He still performs, although now he has body guards or something."<br />
A look of elation on her face, Hecate took out her phone and nodded to Set. He was a moment comprehending what she meant.<br />
"A number to reach you." She prompted.<br />
"Ah yes, of course."<br />
As Set gave her the number of his disposable phone, he couldn't help but feel unnerved. Thinking back on Sadie Fuller had shaken him. Whatever she was, she was still out there somewhere in the city. Oh, how he'd love to carve into the girl with knives.<br />
Set recovered quickly. He put on a smile and looked back at Hecate who was staring.<br />
"Until next time then." He mustered.<br />
Hecate grinned eerily. "Be ready<i> Mullus. </i>The lunar spirit is...formidable."<br />
Set's eyes traveled up and down the goddess as she walked away. His thoughts elsewhere, he bowed his head, content to see how this played out.<br />
<br /></div>
http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-50270615693314718922018-10-05T18:46:00.001-07:002018-10-05T18:46:13.045-07:00Preston Copeland: RighteousIndignation: Ariadne's FollyHey, here's an intro. of Ariadne in the Neon Gods sequel. I had to edit her out of Neon but we got her in Book II and she's really talking. <br /><br />
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<a href="http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/2018/10/ariadnes-folly.html?spref=bl">Preston Copeland: RighteousIndignation: Ariadne's Folly</a>: Ariadne fell silent, staring at the grocer. A turnip of a man, his unusually large jowls and high forehead gave him the appearance of ...http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-86102097343429390492018-10-05T18:14:00.000-07:002018-10-05T18:51:06.977-07:00Ariadne's Folly<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Ariadne fell silent, staring at the grocer. A turnip of a man, his unusually large jowls and high forehead gave him the appearance of a cartoon.<br />
"Miss, as I said before, the prices really aren't negotiable."<br />
The food market had opened a couple of hours prior. An outdoor Saturday morning event, Ariadne had been coming since she descended a year before. It caused her to think of home, which really was a burden given there was no feasible way she could get back. And she had tried. Visiting every charlatan, witchdoctor, and paranormal psychologist in the city. They had all referred her to a shrink, even the medicine man, which was depressing unto itself.<br />
She wandered the shabby, little makeshift kiosks trying a lime here or a pear there, ignoring the downtrodden glances of the fruit owners. What good was being a salesman if sampling the product was unacceptable?<br />
Ariadne huffed and kicked her feet. Her marble blue eyes scouring the kiosk stand for a mango that was ripe enough to eat. "Well, I'll tell ya." She began slowly, not entirely confident the man was apt to have this conversation. "Eating a mango that isn't ripe could crack my teeth. Are you prepared for that outcome? Have you taken the necessary precautions just in case? Wouldn't want you to have to live off your...product?"<br />
It really was a question. This vendor looked to have picked these fruits and vegetable out of a restaurant trash bin.<br />
"What did you say?" The man spat arrogantly. "You will not find more delectable fruits anywhere in the city. Look at this mango."<br />
Ariadne glanced sheepishly at him.<br />
"It is of the utmost quality." He said.<br />
"Well, I might be a heathen but I'm not seeing it." She retorted.<br />
"How dare you!" He cried miserably. "You've stood here nearly thirty minutes, not happy with anything! Go bother somebody else."<br />
"You see," She began again. Her voice took on a motherly quality. "You have to wait until the fruit is ripe."<br />
She plucked the mango out of his hand. The man tensed as Ariadne put it to her nose, smelled it briefly. He cocked his head as she slowly squeezed it, rolling it around in her hand."<br />
"And?" The vendor demanded.<br />
"I don't even know if it's worth it." Ariadne spoke slowly, cautiously. "There's only one way to know for sure."<br />
"Don't you dare!"<br />
She took a large bite, feeling the perfectly ripe fruit burst into her mouth, sugary juices on her tongue, running down her chin. She slurped the pulpy texture, let it linger until she could smell it.<br />
She brushed her dark hair away from her face and tucked it behind her right ear. "This one will do, but just barely."<br />
The man looked stricken, as if she'd given him terrible news about his health. "You did not! You're gonna pay for that!"<br />
"Well, of course I'm going to pay for it." She took another bite. "I'm prepared to purchase all the mangoes. Given they're suitable."<br />
"Suitable?"<br />
"Yes."<br />
"You just ate one! You know they're suitable."<br />
"We're gonna have to discuss that."<br />
The man stiffened. He trembled a little. Ariadne wasn't sure he'd make it through this. She looked at him, seeing the beet face and sweat. The little shakes he had when he mopped his forehead.<br />
Ariadne took a deep breath. "Now then."<br />
He took a step back.<br />
"The pressure is on mister. How much for the pears?"<br />
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Forty seven minutes later, Ariadne found herself at a large fountain a half block up from the food market. It was a robust gray, bespeckled with little dots of white and brown. Clearly areas where the city pigeons had an urge. In the middle of the fountain, a statue of her husband had been erected. Oh, not him exactly. It was a statue of Pan, all cloven-hoofed and horned with shit on his face and pipes. It wasn't Dionysus. Some say her husband was the faun's father but she wasn't one to gossip. And Dionysus was mum on the matter. So that was peculiar.<br />
But there she stood, glaring up at Pan's contorted, muscly, shit covered face when she heard a loud "Hmph!" behind her.<br />
<i>That unhinged vendor</i>. She thought pitifully. "Hey, we agreed on ten for the bushel. I can't help if growing fruit isn't easy on a city sidewalk!"<br />
"Look what we have here."<br />
Ariadne turned and grimaced at the face in front of her. He was a bear of a man. Unshaven, unkempt, frightfully fat. He wore a t shirt that looked about to split. But he had a warm smile. Even if he did waddle around. He held a leash in his large hand that was attached to a waist high donkey that, at this very second, was digging into her bag and munching on carrots she had worked twenty minutes to procure.<br />
"Oh, hi Silenus." She said. "Hey Rat!" She bent and patted the animal stiffly on the head.<br />
"His name isn't Rat."<br />
"So what is it?"<br />
"Donkey."<br />
"God, your dense. Well, I'll tell ya. One animal name is as good as the next. Don't be prejudiced."<br />
"Huh?"<br />
"Where's my husband Silenus?"<br />
"Dionysus has been searching everywhere for you." Silenus said. He straightened, arching his back in some show of dignity. Ariadne squinted at him. "He has scoured the city."<br />
She nodded. "From a barstool?"<br />
Silenus's eyes widened. He shivered at her apparent prescience.<br />
"Oh god, where else would he be? I could have found him in days had I not wanted to explore awhile."<br />
"He has been terribly worried. Especially after the happenings last year."<br />
She rubbed at her lips. The killings had been all over the news. One after another until finally they just stopped. Ariadne bent and picked a mango out of her bag. She placed a hand on Rat as she took a bite.<br />
"How did you descend?" Silenus asked,<br />
She forced a smile. "Come again?"<br />
"Descend, child. You're not a goddess."<br />
"Oh, let's not get into that again."<br />
"Ariadne!"<br />
"I don't know! I'm a princess. I make things happen. What about you, Silenus? You're not exactly a god." She sized him up frowning. "How did you make your way here?"<br />
The old tutor hadn't considered the question before, Ariadne surmised. She scowled, slowly shaking her head. "You don't know either. We're as stuck as they are."<br />
Ariadne wiped her mouth, tossed the mango core into the fountain. "Take me to my husband, Rat."<br />
She ordered.<br />
"Silenus, they really captured your likeness with it. The white spots are especially fitting."<br />
"What are you getting on about?"<br />
"Oh sorry, nothing." She smiled sweetly. Taking the leash out of his hand and leading Rat away. Silenus frowned, staring at the ground. As he followed, he glanced up at the fountain statue and his brow furled. He couldn't say why but he felt that he should be offended. </div>
http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-60972363525118276752018-09-17T22:45:00.001-07:002018-09-17T22:45:12.248-07:00Barnes & Noble debacle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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First, I don't have any idea what that sign is talking about or what I should be looking for. Is it interesting? Terrifying? Should I look for that sign out on the freeway? Will it point me to food? I saw it on the side of a building as I walked past. The florescent popped and there was a slight hum. I stared at it for a short time, maybe forty five minutes then wandered off wondering how the sign knew. The sign knows. Maybe I should hashtag that.<br />
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Second, I absolutely don't know how Barnes & Noble publishes any print copies of any author at any time. I was keen on the ebook submission for B&N. I navigated the page effortlessly, it was almost insulting how quick I uploaded my manuscript and cover. I was laughing gleefully but I think that Barnes or maybe Noble knew. Because when I went to create a print copy of my book, the website tightened up faster than a broken back. I uploaded the manuscript fine, thank you, but the cover refused. Refused. Even after I resized the image, downloaded the shoddy B&N template, changed the pixels, prayed to Cthulhu, and danced a jig. It was hopeless. I knew it was personal for getting uppity about the ebook. That's alright, we'll shove off but I'll be back with Adobe or Photoshop and get even.<br />
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Third, Neon Gods is now available on Amazon in print form and Kindle, B&N ebook, Kobo ebook, and we're taking auditions for the audio version that you can listen to in the luxury of your car. Eventually, I will have a hard cover w/ dust jacket of the novel. If it's the last thing I do. I'll keep you posted. Keep smiling, don't kill anything.<br />
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Cheers. </div>
http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-82226151043786548142018-09-08T12:15:00.001-07:002018-09-08T12:16:06.690-07:00Why write fiction?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I've been asked recently what made me want to worldmake? Why, after doing extensive work in academia and non-fiction, did I stare haplessly onto a blank page and attempt an original story? I could say something like, "Karl Popper would approve." And maybe he would. World 3 certainly includes modern myth making. And I've always loved abstract thought. Why not try my hand at creating a World and reality?<br />
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Or maybe I say, "Fiction is easier." I don't have to research or defend a thesis. I don't need any primary sources or ethnographic fieldwork. I can just sit naked in my apartment and put pen to paper. What could be easier? Well that's just uninformed. I found myself doing as much research or more when I sat down with Hank Dolan and tried to make sense of New Los Angeles.<br />
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No, the truth is: I made a work of fiction because I was compelled to do so. It was a compulsion. I've always been fascinated with myth and folklore. Fiction gave me the opportunity to be a mythologist and arm chair psychologist. This is Sadie Fuller. What would Sadie Fuller do in this circumstance? What would she say? How would she say it? Writing fiction gave me a chance to explore colorful philosophical positions and see how they might play out in certain settings. It was a way to test my own beliefs and thought processes by imagining interactions with people who hold differing viewpoints.<br />
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Am I saying that constructing a dialogue between the Greek Dionysus and Egyptian Set is the same, or even in the same ballpark, as Albert Camus and Jean Paul Sartre, sitting at a hazy French cafe, chain smoking and pouring liquor down their throats, while bickering like dogs about <i>what it means to be free. </i>Yes. To me, it was exactly like that. I found it fascinating to ask myself, given the differences in culture and context, what kind of conversation would these deities have. I imagined them despising each other.<br />
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Fiction was a vehicle to play out scenarios in my mind that found interesting. Writing the story was a form of thought experiment. Maybe that was the main reason why I wrote a book of fiction. I can't really say, with any concrete certainty. I will say that once it got going, once the words began to fill the paper and page one became ten and then thirty and then a hundred, that inertia took over. By the time Act II rolled around, I was stuck on the train and it was gonna be finished come hell or high water.<br />
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The most honest answer about 'why fiction' though, at least for me, is that it became immensely enjoyable. I loved the process. It was delightful, and fun, and grueling, and awful. It was an addiction that Sadie Fuller would certainly relate to. Fiction is all these things and more. Perhaps we see ourselves in our characters. Or we see what we'd like to be. Fiction affords a purity of worldview- we're able to salvage the debris that floats around in our minds and construct a reality where it is useful. It's a zenful experience. Both a meditative experience and creative outlet.<br />
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I often ask myself what would my writing look like now had I taken on creative writing as an area of study in college. Would my fiction writing be better? More stylized? I want to say that the content would be completely different. There's a reason why myth and folklore permeate my book. Perhaps the content is my core interest and I'd have ended up writing about deitic interaction even without the background of academic writing. That's the conundrum of fiction. It's a mystery unto itself. It's a beautiful mystery, full of soaring highs and god awful troughs, but the process is unlike anything else.<br />
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http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-68808687742860989212018-09-06T15:04:00.000-07:002018-09-06T15:04:32.975-07:00Neon Gods Published!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Neon is finally here everybody! You can get the paperback or kindle versions. Here is the link!<br />
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07H1PD2QF?pf_rd_p=d1f45e03-8b73-4c9a-9beb-4819111bef9a&pf_rd_r=TZ31S89G19YP19J7JTFY<br />
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Don't forget to follow my blog for articles, chapter excerpts, and personal reflections on...everything.http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-50954160823490891462018-02-08T07:09:00.000-08:002018-02-08T07:09:35.860-08:00Neon Gods Chapter 1!!!!Outside, the rain was relentless and bashed against the window. Booms reverberated through the walls of the dingy dust addled speakeasy motel. A single twelve inch television displayed snow as streams of bright yellow light spilled in from half closed blinds at the window.<br />
On the bed, a man lay sleeping. Covered from head to toe in a bed sheet, sweat from his chest and forehead seeped into the cotton. As he gasped, the sheet rose gently off his face. Somewhere in the motel, a couple was arguing. Screams could be heard over angry thunder.<br />
The man jolted awake and sat up.<br />
“Father?” he grabbed the sheet, pulling it off.<br />
Squinting and shaking his head, he heard the storm outside. It was so loud. Unbearable. Covering his ears he fell out of bed. He stared in bewilderment at the chaos on television. A large bang outside the door made him flinch. Father it hurts.<br />
Covering his head, he tried to block out the sounds but they consumed him. He retreated to the corner of the room while sweat streamed down his face. A slow, guttural wail echoed through walls.<br />
Shaking, he crawled on hands and knees to the door. He turned the knob and on wobbling knees stepped outside.<br />
A woman was standing outside the next room. She glanced over and smirked.<br />
“Go put on some clothes bum.”<br />
The man blinked sweat out of his eyes. Lip trembling, he looked out in horror at the city street in front of him. As car horns blared and sirens sing past, the man stared at the scars on his wrists. Oh God no. He touched his face as if feeling it for the first time. Shivering, he wrapped his arms close to his body and noticed his teeth chattering. Father help me.<br />
The man noticed a light emanating from above the street. Like a beacon, it blinked above as vehicles shot past underneath. The light. In the light with Father. The man stepped out the motel door and into the road. He stumbled in the direction of the lamp. Barefoot on the slick street, he slipped and almost tumbled as a car narrowly missed him.<br />
Then he was blinded. Unable to see through tears and the headlights of traffic, he dropped to his knees and began to pray. Hands in front of him, eyes closed to the world, he cried out. “Father!”<br />
Suddenly, arms were pulling him out of the street. A beer bottle was thrown from a passing car and shattered in front of him.<br />
“Come on!” A woman hissed. “You’re gonna get yourself killed!” Uncomprehending, the man shook his head. The pain like fire all over his body, he glanced down at his feet and hands. Oh God, where am I? The woman shrugged. “I don’t understand your language. You speak English?”<br />
The man stared blankly at her. He slumped down to the ground. Dirt smudged, slimy and glistening, he knelt in a shallow pool. Sheol. I’m in Sheol. The woman put a hand on his shoulder and he recoiled violently.<br />
“Get away from me Shade! You are forbidden!”<br />
He lurched back and stumbles.<br />
“Hey asshole! I just saved your skinny ass from being road kill.”<br />
The man stumbled backward. His eyes wild with fear.<br />
“I don’t know what language that is but it sounds Jewish. Are you a tourist?”<br />
The man squinted as if seeing her for the first time. “Jehovah.” He blurted and looked around him as if expecting something to come out of the solid black darkness and consume him. “Jehovah.” He repeated.<br />
The woman nodded, looked at him strangely. “I’m Sarah. Come on, let’s get you inside.”<br />
<br />
Neon Gods<br />
For the alchemist, the one primarily in need of redemption is not man, but the deity who is lost and sleeping in matter. - Carl Jung<br />
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Chapter 1<br />
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The edge of the cliff face jutted out like broken teeth. A long, steep climb, Detective Hank Dolan panted heavily and waved away mosquitoes. Hearing cars on the turnpike, he cursed the morning sun silently wishing he was still in bed. He had received a tip that a body lay nearby matching the description of a missing woman three months prior. He despised these assignments. They rarely turned out well. Hank closed his eyes and tried to feel the breeze that served as small comfort to the summer heat that would soon be beating down onto them. “It’s supposed to be in this general area.” Gregg said.<br />
A relic from Hank’s better days, Gregg Summers could always be counted on to be there when needed. Round and cheeky, Gregg was the perfect opposite to Hank’s gangly and finch like stature.<br />
Hank stepped into some thorny underbrush and grabbed a tree for support. Contrary to popular belief, not all of New Los Angeles is sprawling buildings, rail lines, and taxi-cabs. There are lush areas of green, small patches of unkempt vegetation. From above, the city proper reminds one of an upside down chandelier. Countless lamps and mirrored windows bounce light in all directions. But on the Hilltop, a hiking trail and shoddy camp ground where Hank now stood, short grassy outcrops were surrounded by clusters of dense, small trees. Twigs crackled underneath Hank’s boots as he worked his way off the trail. <br />
It’s not all ugly just most of it. Hank thought dryly.<br />
He was positioning himself on a plateau overlooking the city below when Gregg called out.<br />
“Dammit! Over here!”<br />
Hank rolled down his sleeves and put on some latex gloves as he maneuvered to where Gregg was staring at his feet and glowering.<br />
Just then the smell hit him. Putrid and wan, Hank felt bile rise in his throat. He shuffled over and together they gazed down at the body. There were lacerations on her back from being cut repeatedly. Her knotted brown hair covered in dirt and wet leaves reminded Hank of Ophelia.<br />
“Do you think it’s her?” Gregg asked.<br />
Hank grimaced and held his breath. “Possibly.”<br />
He knelt down and rolled her to her side. Her ghostly, barren eyes had been olive. High cheekbones and pouty lips completed a wiry pretty picture. He gingerly lifted her left arm and sighed. There it was. The identifying tattoo that would make her his mark.<br />
“It’s her.” He mumbled.<br />
Gregg walked to the opposite side and leaned down. “Look at her neck.” He said. Dark purple bruising about an inch thick covered her throat. Splotches of blood and serrated skin indicated rope as the probable cause of death.<br />
Gregg turned to stand then stopped, his eyes narrowing. “What’s in her hand?” Her broken, naked body had been turned in a way that Hank had initially missed the scourge.<br />
“What the hell?” Gregg picked it up and scowled. “She did this to herself?” The rope had been braided into three prongs with wax balls at the ends. Each ball was covered in pieces of glass. Largely a Christian practice, Hank knew that flagellation was used as an extreme way for the devout to feel god’s love.<br />
Hank nodded. “The wounds on her back and legs, maybe.” Lifting her hand, Hank couldn’t help but notice her knuckles were bone white. “She’s still clutching it.” As he laid her hand back down, he noticed a piece of rope not attached to the scourge.<br />
Hidden underneath her body and surrounded in brush, this rope was thicker and probably used to tow cars. “Wait a minute.”<br />
He cradled the back of the woman’s head and lifted it just enough to run his hand in the brush under her. Together, they pulled four feet of frayed rope from under her body.<br />
“Could be a cult. The city is nuts right now with all this talk of gods and goddesses.” Gregg remarked.<br />
Hank had to admit that he brought up a good point. The flagellation alone spoke of Christian obsession. Perhaps she was a religious extremist who fell in with the wrong cult. Hank looked up to see Gregg staring at him. “What is it?”<br />
Gregg cleared his throat. “You don’t think...maybe she was one of them?” Hank looked down at her face. They say the gods and goddesses are all beautiful. As if the fall from grace didn’t mar their physical countenance. And she was beautiful. Stunningly so. “It’s possible.”<br />
Gregg circled back and bent down to examine the tattoo on her ribcage. “So she’s part of a cult and she’s doing this-” He points to her scourge marks. “-and her people, what, sacrifice her or something?”<br />
Hank shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s more likely a suicide. Plus, if there had been some ritual, the brush around here would be all flattened.”<br />
He held up the noose then glanced at the broken tree branch resting next to it. “I think she came here to die.” Hank thought back to what his partner had said about the possibility the girl was Descended.<br />
Gregg searching his face nodded. “They’re human now right? They do die.”<br />
Hank’s eyes lingered on her face. He noticed the sharp contours and wondered if she too should be included in the case file of the serial that had been terrorizing New Los Angeles for the past year.<br />
That would make twenty four now. Twenty four bodies.<br />
“I don’t know that they’ll ever be human. But they’re here nevertheless.”<br />
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The billboard, a sprawling mosaic of reds and blues was plastered on the Basement wall just above where Sadie Fuller stood. Lilac and lemon.<br />
That’s what Sadie thought about as she waited for the Basement doors to open. This personal mantra had been hers for as long as she could remember. Both an affirmation and source of strength, she’d repeat the phrase whenever she needed it. It was a part of her, like her phobias, like her dancing. It made her think of sun tea, of purple light and flaxen yellow. Lilac and lemon. She looked up at it. A glossy picture of the headliner. Three accent lights cascaded a dull glow on the face of Jesus Christ and his band mates. The Messiah’s dark sunglasses and grizzled face leered out in the typical rock and roll pose. Around the corner and still thirty minutes before doors open, ushers herded ticket holders in line.<br />
Sadie called herself a fan, which she knew was not wholly true because she had never really heard Jesus Christ Superstar’s music. But the man was a Descendant, a god that fell to earth, along with all the other gods, less than two years ago. Jesus had become a bona fide rock star. Such facts were hard to believe, if belief was even a thing anymore. For Sadie it was hard to tell. Much of the human experiences of myth and religion had become strange or irrelevant after the Descendance. This was a depressing admission but faith had never been something she’d had a strong connection to. And now there was no need for it at all.<br />
Still, she was here waiting in line for the concert. There was clearly some attraction she held with the former god. She assumed it was curious fascination and accepted it as much.<br />
Sadie made sure her gloves were covering all areas of bare skin on her hands. She checked for any holes or tears in the cotton, stretching each finger until she was sure there was no risk of contamination. She seldom had any problems when she went out in public but then again she didn’t attend many rock concerts either. Sadie fingered the backstage pass that hanged around her neck. It would likely be a total madhouse after the show. Who knew how many of these passes had been sold? Patrick wasn’t saying. Her date for the evening, the aspiring businessman had made all the arrangements and refused any elaboration on how much it had cost. Sadie glanced at him then back at her shoes. He wasn’t unattractive. Deep set brown eyes and tall. A tattoo on his left shoulder blade. She supposed they looked good together. The kind of couple you’d see on a sitcom or daytime television show. They had met a short time ago at her job. She had taken his drink orders, an ordinary task she did a hundred times a night only this night she had been lonely and got taken in by his attention. She had agreed to tonight’s date before even knowing his name. Her intuition told her that nothing would come of it. She certainly wouldn’t be going home with him. (He seemed desperate to be coddled and that shit got old fast.) But she was here and rumors were the Messiah put on a helluva good show.<br />
Anticipation grew in Sadie as they moved past a merchant kiosk strategically set up on the way to the Basement front entrance. She put her hands on a t-shirt and key chain, getting a feel of them through her gloves.<br />
“Which one do you like best?” Patrick asked. His voice was a cheery tenor.<br />
“Oh, you don’t have to. I was just looking.” Sadie said.<br />
“I want to.” Patrick replied quickly. “What size do you wear?”<br />
He picked out a black shirt, paid the attendant, then handed it over. Sadie held up a smiling visage of a large black woman pointing to a cross in the sky and saying in bold lettering: ‘Y’all motherfuckers need Jesus!’ Sadie giggled and fit the shirt on over her tank top. She was relieved to be covered a bit. She tied a knot at the bottom showing some midriff but made sure to turn away whenever Patrick’s hands got too close to her bare skin. She looked ahead in line and noticed that ushers had opened the doors. Finally. She thought. She had been doing great working though her phobias but that didn’t mean she was without moments of panic. Patrick had also gotten quiet and she wondered if he was getting bored as well.<br />
As they got inside the vibe changed completely. The drab waiting was replaced with a sulfuric quality combined with the heat of vibrating bodies. The Basement wasn’t a large venue. Designed for an intimate show, the lobby was adorned with band posters and stickers. High bricked walls and three large green lamps overhead spilled a misty fog of neon light in the room. It reminded Sadie of an arcade. The crowd would be jam packed, she knew, hoping that she didn’t get in there and start to freak out. Sadie admitted that she was starting to wish she had stayed home. Am I already contaminated? She fingered her back stage pass. Getting these would be worth the waves of nausea that she could feel churning in her stomach. Directly ahead, she could see people entering the nightclub, inside the clangs of instruments being tuned drifted out into the lobby. Sadie moved that way and peered in, eyes squinting as she passed into the darkened room.<br />
<br />
Sadie stepped away from the low gate separating her from the band and turned directly into a kiss from Patrick. His hand on her behind, he smiled down at her. Just feet from a cabinet of speakers, her ears rang. She fixed her attention back to the stage, marveling on the Descendant. He was sinewy, tan and wore only a ragged pair of shorts. His long hair covering his face as he played, he seemed in trance or perhaps praying. Sadie probed ahead and could feel stage lighting warm the base of her skull. The band had kicked into a slow, melodic tune. Rising scales built in intensity until reaching a tone of exaltation then were improvised in peculiar phrases. Sadie saw the adoring reverence in Patrick’s eyes. The crowd’s reaction was similar. It was like being at a religious revival. Hundreds of arms reached out to the stage, trying to pull the Savior towards them. Audience members stamped their feet and shook their heads. It was the Lord’s prayer. It was a sermon on stage. The front rows felt like being underwater. Sadie’s ears popped and she swallowed to relieve the pressure. She straightened and put her hands out to the stage. Christ lifted his head for a moment, bringing his eyes level to hers. A crooked smile came to his face. Sadie blushed. She thought of the many people that traveled with the band, attending every show they performed. She could understand the attraction. No other concert was quite like this. And she knew it wasn’t just the music. They wanted much more than music. The power of Jesus Christ was unknowable even as it came into your soul like milk and honey. We want you to save us but we don’t want you do die for us. Not again. This is what the concert was designed for. A new peace flowed through her. She closed her eyes, her body vibrated with a deep bass that rumbled through the venue. She took a deep breath and it was as if the noise of the crowd had disappeared. She was alone with the music and it was glorious. <br />
<br />
The halls backstage are dusty. Sadie Fuller thought as she meandered through the corridors of the Basement. Under blinking fluorescents and throngs of drunken groupies and roadies, the otherwordly quality of the music had penetrated into the chipped plaster and peeled wallpaper of the venue interior. <br />
Her long raven hair matted down in places, Sadie could feel sweat beaded on her forehead and neck. Her evergreen eyes darted up and around not settling on one particular thing for too long. At her side, Patrick walked a little too close, his arm brushing up against her as they wove their way backstage.<br />
The area was a large open space littered with a bar and fold out chairs. To Sadie, the words ‘red room’ came to mind because blood red accent lights hanged haphazardly to the walls. She smelled stale cigarette smoke and spilled beer and resisted the onset of a headache. She tucked her hands under her armpits and cringed as people were shoved into her. There are too many people in here. Fans swarmed the dressing room door, their patience growing thin. <br />
Approaching a lanky, clearly drunk Sid Vicious lookalike, Sadie turned away as he grabbed her bare arm just under the t-shirt sleeve and pulled her towards him.<br />
“You wanna candy flip babe? I got some pure liquid if you party.”<br />
“Get off me.”<br />
She pulled out of his grasp and looked down to see dirt marks on her arm and her knitted glove torn at the left thumb. She gagged and felt her forehead get hot.<br />
“Is there a bathroom around here?”<br />
“We can go there if you want.” The man replied. Sadie turned to go and bumped into somebody that had basically been on top of her. “Fuck!” She turned back and he was within kissing distance. Sadie recoiled, pushing his head away. Then she noticed that what she initially thought as dirt on the man’s forehead was actually a round tattoo. She pulled her hand away as he grabbed the sides of his face. The man doubled over and cursed, staring up at her through hate filled eyes. “Bitch! The gods are impotent, who are you really here to see?”<br />
“Bad batch?” She replied and ducked under a taller man’s arm toward the restroom.<br />
Sadie took out an old 35mm film canister. She felt its cool smoothness and popped the lid. Inside was a small mound of cut white powder. It looked soft as cotton. She went to the bath stall and didn’t bother sitting. She stripped off the glove and dipped a blood red fingernail into the canister. A hard pull, delicious warmth on her face. Her breathing sped up, a gorgeous lucidity seeped through her pores. She dipped the finger in again, sniff, delicious warmth. She replaced the lid on the canister and dropped it into her bag.<br />
The glove had a tear in it. Sadie thought as she furiously scrubbed her hands at the sink. The glove had a tear in it. It was probably torn all day. The entire time I was out. I’ve picked up something. I’m sick. It was torn all day. She frantically scrubbed until her thumb was grazed and raw. Her own words echoed through her skull like a curse. It echoed and echoed. An admonishment of her carelessness. Somewhere in her mind, she knew she was in the grip of an episode but couldn’t change the channel. Sadie clasped her hands in front of her and gritted her teeth. The voice never stopped. Had it happened during the show? Before? How could she have not known? She tried to calm her breathing, going through every exercise her doctor had recommended but the dizziness made her feel out of body. She thought she might vomit.<br />
Sadie dug into her pocket, clutched a bottle of paroxetine and pried open up the cap. She tasted chalk in the back of her throat, popped a handful chewing them like candy. <br />
The glove had a tear in it. The glove had a tear in it. Sadie ripped herself away from the sink. How long was I standing there? Twenty minutes? Half hour? The glove had a tear in it. She went rigid and slowly turned the water off. There. Sadie counted to five then exited the restroom but knew she’d need to wash again soon.<br />
Just then the dressing room door opened. As Sadie turned, a panting and soaked through Jesus Christ emerged carrying his acoustic guitar. His bandmates followed close behind, some holding instruments. Are we getting another encore? The decimal level backstage shot to deafening. The reddish hues backstage looked strange on the Messiah. With his hair covering his face, the darkened room made black, shadowed sockets where his eyes should be. Sadie shook her head. <br />
In a fraction of a second, Sadie saw Jesus fall back, a reddening polka dot on his chest began to grow. Sadie blinked, unable to process what she was seeing. Suddenly, a panicked shout rang out in front of her. Then another and another. The crowd in front swelled and ebbed and flowed. It suffocated her, swallowed her in hot breathing and shrieks. She felt herself pulled in all directions. A hard shove sent her to her knees.<br />
Anguished onlookers covered their mouths in disbelief. Out of the corner of her eye, Sadie caught a glimpse of shadows, dark silhouettes on the walls and floor. On a raised platform, she stood motionless. Her hands trembling. Finally, somebody yanked her arm, tearing the glove from her left wrist all the way off. She gasped and began to scream soundlessly. An inaudible wail. She tumbled forward and felt a sharp blow on her head then right leg. Her body burned but her thoughts were on the exposed hand that was now dirty, contaminated. She could feel the parasites worming into her skin, boring through muscle and into her blood. She fell. Her face slapped against beer soaked concrete. Then she was up and kicked again as somebody tumbled over her. Sadie scrambled to her feet and made her way down the long winding corridors of the club. She stepped on her own shoelace and veered hard into a wall. Groaning, she turned left and nearly ran over a young man holding his head and moaning. She made another left and was calculating her chances of actually getting out of the club in one piece when she saw a crowd of people at the exit climbing on top of one another like ants.<br />
She could see outside light just feet in front of her but was unable to move in the jam of bodies. So close. I’m almost out.<br />
By the time she reached the exit, Sadie was shaking violently. Her phobias jolted into something inhuman, she gasped in short choppy wheezes. She began to lash out at everything around her. A roaring in her ears told her she was close to passing out. She could feel herself getting lightheaded and spots were appearing in front of her eyes. There was no sign of Patrick. Had he made it out? She looked down at her new t-shirt and noticed it was torn and soiled. She gagged again, vomited in front of her.<br />
When she burst out of the club, the cool air kissed her cheek. Sadie tried to focus on getting away from the doors but it was too late. Darkness was coming. She stumbled into an intersection adjacent to the club entrance and felt herself begin to fall. Then there was nothing.<br />
<br />
What the hell? Eli Fray thought. Standing slack-jawed at the entrance of the Basement, a herd of screaming people were flooding out of the Club at breakneck speed. All were disheveled and some had blood on their clothing. Most had a faraway, glazed look in their eyes.<br />
Somewhere in the distance sirens were shrieking. Eli bent to help a young woman who had dropped to her knees, her sudden unexpected scream filling the parking lot. He had never seen so many bewildered people stumble around in a daze, their phones buzzing and voices calling out for loved ones. He shuddered feeling wet and cold. <br />
When Sadie materialized through the doors she was bathed in milky light. Acutely unaware of her surroundings, she gazed around with a blank stare. Wearing shorts and a blood-spattered t shirt, her ponytail was caked in dirt and cut hands were shaking wildly. “I’ve got blood in my hair.” She stammered. Then she fell at his feet. Eli scooped her up and pulled her to the curb. Laying her head on his lap, he opened his water bottle and sprinkled some on her forehead and face.<br />
“Sadie! Sadie, wake up.” She stirred as police cruisers rounded the corner and officers spilled out with weapons drawn. “Sadie you have to get up, the police are here.”<br />
Soon, tape had been set up around the Basement and statements were being taken. Witnesses wept and screamed. Some demanded to go home but it was obvious that nobody was leaving until NLAPD had interviewed everybody in the parking lot.<br />
“What did you see son?” A graying officer asked as he knelt and glanced down at Sadie.<br />
“I wasn’t there. I came to pick her up after.”<br />
He lifted the lanyard. “She was backstage?”<br />
“Yeah, I guess. I don’t really know.”<br />
“I was backstage.” Sadie said weakly.<br />
The officer nodded, giving it more emphasis than was needed. He held out a hand. “I’m officer Clement. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”<br />
Sadie burst out laughing, while Eli looked at her worriedly. “Nows not good for me. Can you call back another time?”<br />
“Ma'am it will only take a minute. We’re trying to piece together what happened in there.”<br />
Sadie turned to watch as other concert goers huddled together discussing what had happened. They appeared to be comparing notes.<br />
“Somebody had a knife.” She whispered.<br />
“Yes. There are reports of a stabbing. Did you see any more?”<br />
“No, just one.”<br />
Sadie kept her eyes moving unable to focus on one single detail. She didn’t want any of this burned into her memory. As it was, there were flashes she wouldn’t be able to forget. Images of blood and glass, tears and silent screams. Sadie put her hands to her eyes.<br />
“Can she come down to the station tomorrow?” Eli asked.<br />
From somewhere far away, Sadie heard a faint Yes and drifted off into a restless sleep.http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-12111822742770172952018-01-13T23:27:00.001-08:002018-01-13T23:27:17.162-08:00Sadie chapter excerpt.Here's a bit w/ our Protagonist. Sadie's just trying to figure all this out...like all of us maybe.<br />
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<br />
Sadie kept walking. Past McArthur blvd up 21st street and left towards the city museum. Although not really a slum part of the city, trash still lined the gutters and storm drains, the acrid smell of it wafted in the air. A spring in her step, the cooler day was welcome on her already lightly sunburned shoulders and neck.<br />
Sadie sank into her own thoughts, remembering a melody she danced to the previous year. It had been a simple piano melody with violins. She hummed the theme, recalling the steps. She wished she knew the title and resolved to find the music.<br />
How tempting it was to walk right past the museum onto a freeway onramp, cross the Bay Bridge and stroll right out of New Los Angeles. The thought unnerved her some. She had never considered leaving the city. Was she truly this unhappy?<br />
"Hey you got any spare change?" A man asked her as she passed. He was slumped against a building, youthful face, cutting eyes and petulant mouth glared at her from underneath the brim of a baseball cap.<br />
"No." She replied and kept walking. She waited until a few steps past before she exhaled.<br />
Up ahead, she spied a bundle of blankets rested underneath the canopy of a local restaurant. As she came up on it, the blanket moved. Sadie bent assuming somebody had left their puppy in the shade while they went and got food. As least leave a water dish. She thought perturbed.<br />
Then the bundle began to cry. A tiny wail as from a newborn. Sadie leaned over the crocheted blanket, her hands deftly uncovering the top of a baby's head. She looked further and big brown eyes stared up at her. <br />
"Hi there." Sadie said.<br />
She looked up and down the wide street then through the restaurant window, placing her face right to the glass. Unable to see through the glare, she again fixed on the baby.<br />
"Who do you belong to?" She asked.<br />
The little boy squawked, kicked his legs out and began to cry harder.<br />
"Alright." Sadie cooed.<br />
She sat down, her back against the building and picked up the bundle, cradling it in her lap. She bent and kissed the little boy on his forehead. Her long arms around the baby, her fingers gripped the blanket tightly, securing the child from rolling out of her grasp.<br />
"I'll stay with you until your mom shows up." She said.<br />
Sadie had never held a baby before. She wasn't sure if she was doing it right. She had heard that a baby's neck has to be held secure so angled the boy in the crook between her forearm and bicep, brushing his soft, silky hairs onto his forehead.<br />
"What is your name?" She asked.<br />
The boy cried harder, clearly becoming more annoyed with the situation. Sadie looked around for some clue as to the mother, squinting into the restaurant window.<br />
"Shit."<br />
The baby's pudgy arms waved around as he bawled harder. Sadie shuddered. A feeling of exasperation creeping into her.<br />
"Are you hungry?"<br />
She sighed as the baby responded by screaming. She looked again inside the restaurant. The traffic on the sidewalk having changed. More people were around, bustling past her from both directions, as if just going to or leaving work.<br />
Sadie could not understand why any mother would just leave her hungry baby unattended on a busy goddamn sidewalk. It was galling.<br />
Sadie looked down at the face of the child, his deep set somber eyes stared back at her. Then, without knowing why she was doing it, she reached around, pulling her tank top to the side. She deftly slid her engorged breast out of the cup of her bra. Sadie shifted the baby higher up to her chest and angled his mouth onto her nipple.<br />
The sensation was strange, even stranger the fact that there was milk to be had. As she suckled the child, Sadie reflected on what was happening. Not only was she sitting on a dirty sidewalk in the middle of the day, her fresh clothes getting contaminated, but she was breast feeding a fucking baby.<br />
I'm losing my mind. She thought.<br />
The child's legs kicked happily as he stared up at her. A woman approached from beside the glass door. "Oh, how cute." She exclaimed. 'How old is he?"<br />
"How should I know?" Sadie responded. "I assume this isn't your baby?"<br />
The woman gasped. "Oh my."<br />
"Oh yeah."<br />
Sadie nodded towards the door and angled her face towards the window. "Can you find out who's kid this is? He's about to bite off my nipple."<br />
Just then a cook appeared. His short cropped brown hair tucked under a hair net. The man was cleanly shaved and smelled of too much cologne. "You can't sit here at the door." He began. "Are you feeding that baby?"<br />
"Perceptive one aren't we?" Sadie shot back.<br />
"You can't feed your baby here."<br />
"He's not."<br />
"I can see your breast right now."<br />
"I mean he's not my baby douchebag. Go find his mom."<br />
The man's eyes widened and he stepped back into the establishment. Just then, a shrieking woman with graying hair pushed him aside. A single braid down her back, frantic eyes welled up with tears. To Sadie, she appeared to be Indian, a single dot adorned her forehead. Her feet stumbling out of one of her flip flops as she lunged forward, she wore an azure blue dress that matched the blanket of the boy.<br />
"My baby!" She screamed.<br />
Sadie looked up suddenly, a jolt as if awoken to a loud bang. "Here!" She screamed back.<br />
The baby continued about his business making strange little utterances as he ate. As Sadie pulled away from him, he waved his arms frantically and began to scream. Sadie wondered what the scene must look like to the frightened bystanders standing nearby. All three of them screeching and a baby being handed off like it was a diseased little football.<br />
She backed away and tucked her breast back into her bra. As the mother cried for police, Sadie put her hands on her hips and glowered down at her. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Anything could have happened to that kid. Fucking idiot."<br />
She walked off at a leisurely pace ignoring the strange looks that seemed to be coming from all directions. Sadie turned town down 35th avenue and nearly ran into a working girl standing outside the city theater. The woman hardly seemed to notice. She wasn’t the only one though. All around her, people just seemed off. She had the distinct impression that something had changed following the murder of Jesus Christ. As if a little fire in their souls had been snuffed out. She could still smell the delicious corn dogs sold at the corner food truck. The Farmers Market set up on two adjacent parking lots was still selling ripe fruits and vegetables. But something seemed wrong.<br />
She knew she needed to get back to normal. To carry on with her daily activities. I need to pay rent. She thought absently. But it was hard. She didn’t want to do anything but walk the streets, to share in the solace of the anonymous. Because that’s what it was. Nobody was talking about it but everybody just wanted to be together in sorrow. An unspoken sharing of grief for the Descended Christ. <br />
Turning the corner onto Main street, she saw the bright pink sign of the Sin Eater just up ahead. A Gentleman’s Club she worked at part time, The Eater was a mixture of scantily clad dancers and watered down alcohol.<br />
Upon entering, the first thing one noticed was the darkened room. It usually took a full minute before Sadie’s eyes adjusted to the dimmed lighting. The smell was a mixture of stale cigarette smoke and sweat. Luckily, Reggie had invested in state of the art central air conditioning that kept the place at a tolerable temperature in the summer.<br />
She had started working at the club immediately after leaving home. Taking dance classes, she had worked her way through school. But the fear of auditioning and the phobias she carried with her made it a struggle. She still danced but not at the Club. It wasn’t that she felt too righteous to dance at a Gentleman’s Club. The dancers at the Sin Eater were talented and many could audition for work outside but she didn’t like the looks she got from the men in the crowd. Being appreciated for your craft is one thing. Getting leered at by drunken middle aged men is something else entirely.<br />
As she held up a middle finger and smiled at the doorman, she habitually counted the number of dancers strutting on the main and side stages. Only four. Slow night. Glancing up, a bikini clad blond woman dipped in glitter and glowing on the main stage winked and waved at her. Freya had been a friend to Sadie from the beginning. She had helped her get the part time job and show her the ropes. Freya was also descended. The only deity Sadie had met prior to Dionysus, the Nordic goddess was somebody she trusted. Her golden mane and come hither smiles always airy, always bright. <br />
Sadie grinned and pointed to Reggie’s office at the back of the club. Freya nodded and shook her perfectly rounded rear end in that direction. Sadie stepped to the door and turned the knob. Finding it locked, she knocked three times and waited. Nothing. Knocking again, this time more forcefully, she gave it a kick just for good measure. Abruptly, she heard a click and slowly entered the room. Reggie stood there scowling. A brunette dancer, probably new, was straightening her top and trying to evaporate from the room.<br />
“Dammit Sadie.” Reggie said with a slight edge. “What is with you and your timing?” He blew his nose and coughed. A short, pot bellied man who resembled a weasel, the contours of his face were always lost to the jowls that seemed to be his whole face. Sadie smirked.<br />
“Did I interrupt something?” As the girl scurried from the room like a frightened rabbit, Reggie buttoned up his silk purple shirt and ran a hand through his salt and pepper checkered hair. They looked at each other for a few seconds.<br />
“What are you doing dummy?”<br />
“Conducting a job interview.” Reggie answered and motioned for her to sit. “You’ve been gone awhile. Everything alright?”<br />
Sadie lowered her eyes. “Yeah, things are OK.”<br />
Reggie pulled out a small keyring and opened up a cabinet in the corner of the office. He pulled out a small file with her name on it and sat down. “So it’s been five weeks since we last saw you. How much work do you want?”<br />
Sadie leaned forward showing him a bit of her bosom and arched an eyebrow. “I need a couple of weeks.”<br />
Reggie shook his head. “It’s been really slow Sadie. I don’t need extra help to be honest.”<br />
Sadie folded her hands on her lap and looked into his eyes. “I need money.” Her voice cracked on the last word.<br />
Reggie nodded. “Will you dance?” She cringed. “I’m your waitress all weekend.”<br />
Reggie looking bemused, closed his eyes. “You’re always such a pain.”<br />
“That’s why you love me.” Sadie chirped. Just then the door burst open and in came Freya beaming and covered in sweat.<br />
Sadie laughed. “You lost all your glitter.”<br />
Freya winked and put her hands on her hips. “Some guy in the front row said he wanted to lick it off.”<br />
Sadie placed her hands on either side of Freya’s face and brought her in close enough to kiss. “Ew.” She said grinning. Freya slapped Sadie on her behind<br />
“Are you back then? This place really needs some lady girl action!”<br />
Sadie glanced at Reggie and shrugged. “He says it’s too slow.”<br />
Freya scoffed. “It’s fine. Reggie you’re a bullshitter. She stays.” Glaring, she slammed the office door as she left.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-82206255071824832742018-01-13T22:47:00.002-08:002018-01-13T22:47:46.914-08:00Apollo excerptDid I introduce you all to Apollo yet? Here's a bit of an early #NeonGods chapter. Dig on it, feel free to email or message on social media. The manuscript is close to beta read and a line edit is coming. Then a publish for all my Descendants headed towards the City.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
It was once said that the Greek god Apollo, offspring of Zeus and Leto was born clutching a golden sword. He came into being on Delos along with his twin sister Artemis. According to legend, he was a precocious infant. At his first taste of sweet ambrosia, Apollo transformed from a tiny baby into a grown man.<br />
His second birth wasn't like that. Not at all. Apollo descended behind the wheel of a 1985 Chrysler Lebaron. Speeding down a busy street at half past six on a Saturday afternoon, the god gripped both sides of the steering wheel like he was trying to strangle it.<br />
One or two other drivers noticed the erratic driving and screams, each shaking their head in disappointment. Always a fast learner, the god quickly extrapolated the break from gas pedal and got a feel for the steering. He came to a red light and noticed vehicles around him stopping. Lightly pressing the break, he coasted to a stop and smiled at his traveling prowess.<br />
But the god had yet become acquainted with the automatic gear shift and as he threw the door open and stepped out, the Lebaron lurched forward with no one at the wheel. Around him, other drivers shrieked and pointed in his direction. Some cursed and held up various fingers of their hand. Apollo joined in. He stood and screamed in his native tongue, waving his hands furiously and spitting. He was always a fast learner. Meanwhile, the ghost car traveled unattended up the block and through an intersection before finally careening into the side of a building. Apollo watched it curiously. Where was he? He knew it wasn't Delphi nor his birth place of Delos. This was an isle of man and he was in front of the veil. <br />
He entered a narrow alley thrown into shadow by adjacent buildings. He could smell food somewhere close and supposed that meat was being laid on the fire. Up ahead, a small structure, lay at the end of the alley. Dark covered windows on both sides of the door, the shanty was was lit by a single bulb suspended like a fake sun. A wooden sign hanged just underneath it. On the sign was a word drawing. He recognized it as Greek immediately. The word meant fortune and luck. Tyche!<br />
The door creaked open and a woman shuffled outside in slippers. She was thin as reeds, long wavy gray hair settled down her back. "I've been waiting for one of you."<br />
The voice was high pitch and cracked. Apollo took a step forward and noticed the woman wasn't looking at him but at something to his right. He turned and saw nothing. Taking another step, he realized the woman had no eyes. Or more succinctly, her lids rested on sightless corneas. She stood still but waved at him in short, jerky movements.<br />
"Get over here goddamnit! I told you you've been expected!"<br />
Apollo had no idea what the woman was talking about but it was clear she was welcoming.<br />
"Where's Tyche?"<br />
"Ah, a Greek!" The woman said. "Come closer. I want to see your face."<br />
Apollo stepped in front of her and took her by the hands. He placed them on his face and waited. She ran her fingers down his cheeks and cupped his chin, then placed her thumbs onto his eyes and ran them up to his forehead. She felt the curls of his hair.<br />
"Which one are ya?"<br />
Apollo removed her gnarled fingers from his face. He stepped beside her and entered the small establishment. It was as downtrodden inside. Lit by candles at each corner, the room was perhaps the size of a small Roman bath. He smelled incense and cat urine as he walked to the center of the room where a single chair and television accompanied a tiny desk covered by newspaper clippings. He wondered vaguely about the papers considering her sight but let it pass. The woman intuiting his question, stepped beside him, ran trembling hands over the headlines as if they were in brail. He bent and read aloud.: "Multiple sources confirmed. The gods have landed."<br />
"Which one are ya boy? Zeus? Orpheus?"<br />
"Apollo."<br />
The woman squealed in delight. "Have you been awake long?"<br />
"Not long."<br />
Apollo allowed himself to be sat in a chair and was given a cup of tea. It was hot and tasted of cinnamon. He let each sip linger on his tongue.<br />
I've been waiting for somebody to show up at my door." She croaked.<br />
"There are others?"<br />
"Oh yes, there are many."<br />
"Where?"<br />
Apollo downed the last of the tea. He placed the cup in her shaking hand.<br />
"More?" She inquired.<br />
Apollo shook his head and as he did, the woman seized his wrist. "With kind eyes you'll see them deity." Her gray face cut into him like a razor. In the dim light it was like looking at a steely metal mold. Apollo recoiled and noticed his senses dulled. The tea.<br />
"Better a sip than a smoke as they say."<br />
Apollo was reminded of the Pythia. Known as the Oracle of Delphi, the Pythia had got her name from the python that he himself had slain. She had been a powerful prophetess, her mystical operations a supposed mystery.<br />
"Enthusiasmos." He said quietly.<br />
"Ah, you do see!" She beamed at him. Her yellowing teeth and wolfish grin cracked her face into something macabre. "It was always you, dear Apollo. You gave me sight!"<br />
"When did you awake?" He asked.<br />
"Oh, I didn't Descend child. I was born human. But when the stars fell, I witnessed their fiery descent. Your descent.<br />
"You haven't told me where they are."<br />
"Because I don't know!" She spat. "They're around, many from both sides of the ocean."<br />
The woman sat a candle down on the table and struck a match. It took her a couple tried but she got the wick lit, using her index finger and thumb as a guide. She looked up and Apollo swore she could see him.<br />
"There's a storm coming. A big'un."<br />
"What have you seen Pythia?"<br />
The woman cackled and opened the door. Apollo felt the cool summer breeze on his bare arms. Although a warm night, it still brought goosebumps. Or perhaps it was what she said.<br />
"The storm." He prodded.<br />
"Beware it child, the clouds are rolling in angry. Best to find shelter while you can."<br />
Always a riddle. Apollo thought perturbed. She closed the door leaving Apollo on her doorstep. Then the bulb overhead went black. He looked up into the clear night sky and thought of rain.http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-6267914588059749052018-01-06T18:11:00.000-08:002018-01-06T18:11:05.135-08:00Neon Gods Chapter 1Hello everybody, as I run through the editing process and prepare NeonGods for my betas, I've had a few DM's concerning the scene that gets the action running in the novel. More than one of these messages has been cautionary, a few have told me it's hopelessly blasphemous. This story couldn't and honestly shouldn't begin in any other manner. Still, I want to get an idea of what you all think, So I'm posting an edited Chapter 1 of the novel. It needs another run through but the sentiment of the inciting incident is evident. Feel free to message me or find me on social networking sites if you want to discuss. As it is, enjoy! -P-<br />
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Based on true events<br />
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<br />
Act I<br />
The Moon<br />
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The edge of the cliff face jutted out like broken teeth. A long, steep climb, Detective Hank Dolan panted heavily and waved away mosquitoes. Hearing cars on the turnpike, he cursed the morning sun silently wishing he was still in bed. He had received a tip that a body was discovered matching the description of a woman gone missing three months prior. He despised these assignments. They rarely turned out well. Hank closed his eyes and tried to feel the breeze that served as small comfort to the summer heat that would soon be beating down onto them. “It’s supposed to be in this general area.” Gregg said.<br />
A relic from Hank’s better days, Gregg Summers could always be counted on to be there when needed. Round and cheeky, Gregg was the perfect opposite to Hank’s gangly and finch like stature.<br />
Hank stepped into some thorny underbrush and grabbed a tree for support. Contrary to popular belief, not all of New Los Angeles is sprawling buildings, rail lines, and taxi-cabs. Just outside the city is picturesque landscapes and vineyards. As organic as its people, the city is layered with modernism built on the detritus of the past. From above, its symmetry reminds one of an upside down chandelier. Countless lamps and mirrored windows bounce light in all directions. The city sparkles and shines, its luster polished in the night sky.<br />
It’s not all ugly just most of it. Hank thought dryly.<br />
He was positioning himself on a plateau overlooking the expanse when Gregg called out.<br />
“Dammit! Over here!”<br />
Hank rolled down his sleeves and put on some latex gloves as he maneuvered to where Gregg was staring at his feet and glowering.<br />
Just then the smell hit him. Putrid and wan, Hank felt bile rise in his throat. He shuffled over and together they gazed down at the body. There were lacerations on her back from being cut repeatedly. Her knotted brown hair covered in dirt and wet leaves reminded Hank of Ophelia.<br />
“Do you think it’s her?” Gregg asked.<br />
Hank grimaced and held his breath. “Possibly.”<br />
He knelt down and rolled her to her side Her ghostly, barren eyes had been olive. High cheekbones and pouty lips completed a wiry pretty picture. He gingerly lifted her left arm and sighed. There it was. The identifying tattoo that would make her his mark.<br />
“It’s her.” He mumbled.<br />
Gregg walked to the opposite side and leaned down. “Look at her neck.” He said. Dark purple bruising about an inch thick covered her throat. Splotches of blood and serrated skin indicated rope as the probable cause of death.<br />
Gregg turned to stand then stopped, his eyes narrowing. “What’s in her hand?” Her broken, naked body had been turned in a way that Hank had initially missed the scourge.<br />
“What the hell?” Gregg picked it up and scowled. “She did this to herself?” The rope had been braided into three prongs with wax balls at the ends. Each ball was covered in pieces of glass. Largely a Christian practice, Hank knew that flagellation was used as an extreme way for the devout to feel god’s love.<br />
Hank nodded. “The wounds on her back and legs, maybe.” Lifting her hand, Hank couldn’t help but notice her knuckles were bone white. “She’s still clutching it.” As he laid her hand back down, he noticed a piece of rope not attached to the scourge.<br />
Hidden underneath her body and surrounded in brush, this rope was thicker and probably used to tow cars. “Wait a minute.” He cradled the back of the woman’s head and lifted it just enough to run his hand in the brush under her. They pulled four feet of frayed rope from under her body.<br />
“Could be a cult. The city is nuts right now with all this talk of gods and goddesses.” Gregg remarked.<br />
Hank had to admit that he brought up a good point. The flagellation alone spoke of Christian obsession. Perhaps she was a religious extremist who fell in with the wrong cult. Hank looked up to see Gregg staring at him. “What is it?”<br />
Gregg cleared his throat. “You don’t think...maybe she was one of them?” Hank looked down at her face. They say the gods and goddesses are all beautiful. As if the fall from grace didn’t mar their physical countenance. And she was beautiful. Stunningly so. “It’s possible.”<br />
Gregg circled back and bent down to examine the tattoo on her ribcage. “So she’s part of a cult and she’s doing this-” He points to her scourge marks. “-and her people, what, sacrifice her or something?”<br />
Hank shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s more likely a suicide. Plus, if there had been some ritual, the brush around here would be all flattened.”<br />
He held up the noose then glanced at the broken tree branch resting next to it. “I think she came here to die.” Hank thought back to what his partner had said about the possibility the girl was Descended.<br />
Gregg searching his face nodded. “They’re human now right? They do die.”<br />
Hank’s eyes lingered on her face. He noticed the sharp contours and wondered if she too should be included in the case file of the serial that had been terrorizing New Los Angeles for the past year.<br />
That would make twenty four now. Twenty four bodies.<br />
“I don’t know that they’ll ever be human. But they’re here nevertheless.”<br />
<br />
The billboard, a sprawling mosaic of reds and blues was plastered on the Basement wall just above where Sadie Fuller stood. Lilac and lemon.<br />
That’s what Sadie thought about as she waited for the Basement doors to open. This personal mantra had been hers for as long as she could remember. Both an affirmation and source of strength, she’d repeat the phrase whenever she needed it. It was a part of her, like her phobias, like her dancing. It made her think of sun tea, of purple light and flaxen yellow. Lilac and lemon. She looked up at it. A glossy picture of the headliner. Three accent lights cascaded a dull glow on the face of Jesus Christ and his band mates. The Messiah’s dark sunglasses and grizzled face leered out in the typical rock and roll pose. Around the corner and still thirty minutes before doors open, ushers herded ticket holders in line.<br />
Sadie called herself a fan, which she knew was not wholly true because she had never really heard Jesus Christ Superstar’s music. But the man was a Descendant, a god that fell to earth, along with all the other gods, less than two years ago. Jesus had become a bona fide rock star. Such facts were hard to believe, if belief was even a thing anymore. For Sadie it was hard to tell. Much of the human experiences of myth and religion had become strange or irrelevant after the Descendance. This was a depressing admission but faith had never been something she’d had a strong connection to. And now there was no need for it at all.<br />
Still, she was here waiting in line for the concert. There was clearly some attraction she held with the former god. She assumed it was curious fascination and accepted it as much.<br />
Sadie made sure her gloves were covering all areas of bare skin on her hands. She checked for any holes or tears in the cotton, stretching each finger until she was sure there was no risk of contamination. She seldom had any problems when she went out in public but then again she didn’t attend many rock concerts either. Sadie fingered the backstage pass that hanged around her neck. It would likely be a total madhouse after the show. Who knew how many of these passes had been sold? Patrick wasn’t saying. Her date for the evening, the aspiring businessman had made all the arrangements and refused any elaboration on how much it had cost. Sadie glanced at him then back at her shoes. He wasn’t unattractive. Deep set brown eyes and tall. A tattoo on his left shoulder blade. She supposed they looked good together. The kind of couple you’d see on a sitcom or daytime television show. They had met a short time ago at her job. She had taken his drink orders, an ordinary task she did a hundred times a night only this night she had been lonely and got taken in by his attention. She had agreed to tonight’s date before even knowing his name. Her intuition told her that nothing would come of it. She certainly wouldn’t be going home with him. (He seemed desperate to be coddled and that shit got old fast.) But she was here and rumors were the Messiah put on a helluva good show.<br />
Anticipation grew in Sadie as they moved past a merchant kiosk strategically set up on the way to the Basement front entrance. She put her hands on a t-shirt and key chain, getting a feel of them through her gloves.<br />
“Which one do you like best?” Patrick asked. His voice was a cheery tenor.<br />
“Oh, you don’t have to. I was just looking.” Sadie said.<br />
“I want to.” Patrick replied quickly. “What size do you wear?”<br />
He picked out a black shirt, paid the attendant, then handed it over. Sadie held up a smiling visage of a large black woman pointing to a cross in the sky and saying in bold lettering: ‘Y’all motherfuckers need Jesus!’ Sadie giggled and fit the shirt on over her tank top. She was relieved to be covered a bit. She tied a knot at the bottom showing some midriff but made sure to turn away whenever Patrick’s hands got too close to her bare skin. She looked ahead in line and noticed that ushers had opened the doors. Finally. She thought. She had been doing great working though her phobias but that didn’t mean she was without moments of panic. Patrick had also gotten quiet and she wondered if he was getting bored as well.<br />
As they got inside the vibe changed completely. The drab waiting was replaced with a sulfuric quality combined with the heat of vibrating bodies. The Basement wasn’t a large venue. Designed for an intimate show, the lobby was adorned with band posters and stickers. High bricked walls and three large green lamps overhead spilled a misty fog of neon light in the room. It reminded Sadie of an arcade. The crowd would be jam packed, she knew, hoping that she didn’t get in there and start to freak out. Sadie admitted that she was starting to wish she had stayed home. Am I already contaminated? She fingered her back stage pass. Getting these would be worth the waves of nausea that she could feel churning in her stomach. Directly ahead, she could see people entering the nightclub, inside the clangs of instruments being tuned drifted out into the lobby. Sadie moved that way and peered in, eyes squinting as she passed into the darkened room.<br />
Sadie stepped away from the low gate separating her from the band and turned directly into a kiss from Patrick. His hand on her behind, he smiled down at her. Just feet from a cabinet of speakers, her ears rang. She fixed her attention back to the stage, marveling on the Descendant. He was sinewy, tan and wore only a ragged pair of shorts. His long hair covering his face as he played, he seemed in trance or perhaps praying. Sadie probed ahead and could feel stage lighting warm the base of her skull. The band had kicked into a slow, melodic tune. Rising scales built in intensity until reaching a tone of exaltation then were improvised in peculiar phrases. Sadie saw the adoring reverence in Patrick’s eyes. The crowd’s reaction was similar. It was like being at a religious revival. Hundreds of arms reached out to the stage, trying to pull the Savior towards them. Audience members stamped their feet and shook their heads. It was the Lord’s prayer. It was a sermon on stage. The front rows felt like being underwater. Sadie’s ears popped and she swallowed to relieve the pressure. She straightened and put her hands out to the stage. Christ lifted his head for a moment, bringing his eyes level to Sadie’s. A crooked smile came to his face. Sadie blushed. She thought of the many people that traveled with the band, attending every show they performed. She could understand the attraction. No other concert was quite like this. And she knew it wasn’t just the music. They wanted much more than music. Hope fell like falling snow and made everybody who bore witness something more. The power of Jesus Christ was unknowable even as it came into your soul like milk and honey. We want you to save us but we don’t want you do die for us. Not again.<br />
This is what the concert was designed for. It was a religious ritual meant to increase our comprehension of faith itself. And Sadie did feel redeemed. A new peace flowed through her. She closed her eyes, her body vibrated with a deep bass that rumbled through the venue. She took a deep breath and it was as if the noise of the crowd had disappeared. She was alone with the music and it was glorious. <br />
The halls backstage are dusty. Sadie Fuller thought as she meandered through the corridors of the Basement. Under blinking fluorescents and throngs of drunken groupies and roadies, the otherwordly quality of the music had penetrated into the chipped plaster and peeled wallpaper of the venue interior. <br />
Her long raven hair matted down in places, Sadie could feel sweat beaded on her forehead and neck. Her evergreen eyes darted up and around not settling on one particular thing for too long. At her side, Patrick walked a little too close, his arm brushing up against her as they wove their way backstage.<br />
Spread out before her was every facet of the rock and roll experience. Half-naked women mingled here and there while booze addled fans and friends waited for the messiah to emerge from his dressing room. <br />
The area was a large open space littered with a bar and fold out chairs. To Sadie, the word ‘red room’ came to mind because blood red accent lights hanged haphazardly to the walls. She smelled stale cigarette smoke and spilled beer and resisted the onset of a headache. She tucked her hands under her armpits and cringed as people were shoved into her. There are too many in here. Fans swarmed the dressing room door. Their patience growing thin as it got hotter backstage.<br />
Approaching a lanky, clearly inebriated Sid Vicious lookalike, Sadie turned away as he grabbed her bare arm just under the t-shirt sleeve and pulled her towards him.<br />
“You wanna candy flip babe? I got some pure liquid if you party.”<br />
“Get off me.”<br />
She pulled out of his grasp and looked down to see dirt marks on her arm and her cotton glove torn at the left thumb exposing a tiny bit of creamy skin. She gagged and felt her forehead get hot.<br />
“Is there a bathroom around here?”<br />
“We can go there if you want.” The man replied. Sadie turned to go and bumped into somebody that had basically been on top of her. “Fuck!” She turned back and he was within kissing distance. Sadie recoiled, pushing his head away. Then she noticed that what she took as dirt on the man’s forehead was actually a round tattoo. She pulled her hand away as he grabbed the sides of his face. The man doubled over and cursed, staring up at her through hate filled eyes. “Bitch! The gods are impotent, who are you really here to see?”<br />
“Bad batch?” She replied and ducked under a taller man’s arm toward the restroom.<br />
She took out an old 35mm film canister. She felt its cool smoothness and popped the lid. Inside was a small mound of cut white powder. It looked soft as snow. She went to the bath stall and didn’t bother sitting. She stripped off the glove and dipped a blood red fingernail into the canister. A hard pull, delicious warmth on her face. Her breathing sped up, a gorgeous lucidity seeped through her pores. She dipped the finger in again, sniff, delicious warmth. She replaced the lid on the canister and dropped it into her bag.<br />
The glove had a tear in it. Sadie thought as she furiously scrubbed her hands at the sink. The glove had a tear in it. It was probably torn all day. The entire time I was out. I’ve picked up something. I’m sick. It was torn all day. She frantically scrubbed until her thumb was grazed and raw. Her own words echoed through her skull like a curse. It echoed and echoed. An admonishment of her carelessness. Somewhere in her mind, she knew she was in the grip of an episode but couldn’t change the channel. Sadie clasped her hands in front of her and gritted her teeth. The voice never stopped. Had it happened during the show? Before? How could she have not known? She tried to calm her breathing, going through every exercise her doctor had recommended but the dizziness made her feel out of body. She thought she might vomit.<br />
Sadie dug into her pocket, clutched a bottle of paroxetine and pried open up the cap. She tasted chalk in the back of her throat, popped a handful chewing them like candy. <br />
The glove had a tear in it. The glove had a tear in it. Sadie ripped herself away from the sink. How long was I standing there? Twenty minutes? Half hour? The glove had a tear in it. She went rigid and slowly turned the water off. There. Sadie counted to five then exited the restroom but knew she’d need to wash again soon.<br />
Just then the dressing room door opened. As Sadie turned, a panting and soaked through Jesus Christ emerged carrying his acoustic guitar and followed by the band in tow. The decimal level backstage shot to deafening. The reddish hues backstage looked strange on the Messiah. With his hair covering his face, the darkened room made shadowed sockets where his eyes should be. Sadie shook her head. In a fraction of a second, Sadie saw Jesus fall back, a reddening polka dot on his chest began to grow. Sadie blinked, unable to process what she was seeing. Suddenly, a panicked shout rang out in front of her. Then another and another. The crowd in front swelled and ebbed and flowed. It suffocated her, swallowed her in hot breathing and shrieks. She felt herself pulled in all directions. A hard shove sent her to her knees.<br />
Anguished onlookers covered their mouths in disbelief. Out of the corner of her eye, Sadie caught a glimpse of shadows, dark silhouettes on the walls and floor. On a raised platform, she stood motionless. Her hands trembling. Finally, somebody yanked her arm, tearing the glove from her left wrist all the way off. She gasped and began to scream soundlessly. An inaudible wail. She tumbled forward and felt a sharp blow on her head then right leg. Her body burned but her thoughts were on the exposed hand that was now dirty, contaminated. She could feel the parasites worming into her skin, boring through muscle and into her blood. She fell. Her face slapped against beer soaked concrete. Then she was up and kicked again as somebody tumbled over her. Sadie scrambled to her feet and made her way down the long winding corridors of the club. She stepped on her own shoelace and veered hard into a wall. Groaning, she turned left and nearly ran over a young man holding his head and moaning. She made another left and was calculating her chances of actually getting out of the club in one piece when she saw a crowd of people at the exit climbing on top of one another like ants.<br />
She could see outside light just feet in front of her but was unable to move in the jam of bodies. So close. I’m almost out.<br />
By the time she reached the exit, Sadie was shaking violently. Her phobias jolted into something inhuman, she gasped in short choppy wheezes. She began to lash out at everything around her. A roaring in her ears told her she was close to passing out. She could feel herself getting lightheaded and spots were appearing in front of her eyes. There was no sign of Patrick. Had he made it out? She looked down at her new t-shirt and noticed it was torn and soiled. She gagged again, vomited in front of her.<br />
When she burst out of the club, the cool air kissed her cheek. Sadie tried to focus on getting away from the doors but it was too late. Darkness was coming. She stumbled into an intersection adjacent to the club entrance and felt herself begin to fall. Then there was nothing.http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-17618018002962851142017-10-15T11:05:00.000-07:002017-10-15T11:05:26.598-07:00Excerpts of Chapter 1...The edge of the cliff face jutted out like broken teeth. A long, steep climb, Detective Hank Dolan panted heavily and waved away mosquitoes. Hearing cars on the turnpike, he cursed the morning sun silently wishing he was still in bed. He had received a tip that a body was discovered matching the description of a missing woman. He despised these assignments. They rarely turned out well. Hank closed his eyes and tried to feel the breeze that served as small comfort to the summer heat that would soon be beating down onto them. “It’s supposed to be in this general area.” Gregg said.<br />
A relic from Hank’s better days, Gregg Summers could always be counted on to be there when needed. Round and cheeky, Gregg was the perfect opposite to Hank’s gangly and finch like stature.<br />
Hank stepped into some thorny underbrush and grabbed a tree for support. Contrary to popular belief, not all of New Los Angeles is sprawling buildings, rail lines, and taxi-cabs. Just outside the city is picturesque landscapes and vineyards.New Los Angeles breathes with the seasons. As organic as its people, the city is layered with modernism built on the detritus of the past. Like Jerusalem or Rome, NLA’s history is right underneath all who walk its streets. From above, its symmetry reminds one of an upside down chandelier. Countless lamps and mirrored windows bounce light in all directions. The city sparkles and shines its luster polished in the night sky.<br />
It’s not all ugly just most of it. Hank thought dryly.<br />
He was positioning himself on a plateau overlooking the expanse when Greg called out.<br />
“Dammit! Over here!”<br />
Hank rolled down his sleeves and put on some latex gloves as he maneuvered to where Gregg was staring at his feet and glowering.<br />
Just then the smell hit him. Putrid and wan, Hank felt bile rise in his throat. He shuffled over and together they gazed down at the body. There were lacerations on her back from being cut repeatedly. Her knotted brown hair covered in dirt and wet leaves reminded Hank of Ophelia.<br />
“Do you think it’s her?” Gregg asked.<br />
Hank grimaced and held his breath. “Possibly.”<br />
He knelt down and rolled her to her side Her ghostly, barren eyes had been olive. High cheekbones and pouty lips completed a wiry pretty picture. He gingerly lifted her left arm and sighed. There it was. The identifying tattoo that would make her his mark.<br />
“It’s her.” He mumbled.<br />
Gregg walked to the opposite side and leaned down. “Look at her neck.” He said. Dark purple bruising about an inch thick covered her throat. Splotches of blood and serrated skin indicated rope as the probable cause of death.<br />
Gregg turned to stand then stopped, his eyes narrowing. “What’s in her hand?” Her broken, naked body had been turned in a way that Hank had initially missed the scourge.<br />
“What the hell?” Gregg picked it up and scowled. “She did this to herself?” The rope had been braided into three prongs with wax balls at the ends. Each ball was covered in pieces of glass. Largely a Christian practice, Hank knew that flagellation was used as an extreme way for the devout to feel god’s love.<br />
Hank nodded. “The wounds on her back and legs, maybe.” Lifting her hand, Hank couldn’t help but notice her knuckles were bone white. “She’s still clutching it.” As he laid her hand back down, he noticed a piece of rope not attached to the scourge.<br />
Hidden underneath her body and surrounded in brush, this rope was thicker and probably used to tow cars. “Wait a minute.” He cradled the back of the woman’s head and lifted it just enough to run his hand in the brush under her. They pulled four feet of frayed rope from under her body.<br />
“Could be a cult. The city is nuts right now with all this talk of gods and goddesses.” Gregg remarked.<br />
Hank had to admit that he brought up a good point. The flagellation alone spoke of Christian obsession. Perhaps she was a religious extremist who fell in with the wrong cult. Hank looked up to see Gregg staring at him. “What is it?”<br />
Gregg cleared his throat. “You don’t think...maybe she was one of them?” Hank looked down at her face. They say the gods and goddesses are all beautiful. As if the fall from grace didn’t mar their physical countenance. And she was beautiful. Stunningly so. “It’s possible.”<br />
Gregg circled back and bent down to examine the tattoo on her ribcage. “So she’s part of a cult and she’s doing this-” He points to her scourge marks. “-and her people, what, sacrifice her or something?”<br />
Hank shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s more likely a suicide. Plus, if there had been some ritual, the brush around here would be all flattened.”<br />
He held up the noose then glanced at the broken tree branch resting next to it. “I think she came here to die.” Hank thought back to what his partner had said about the possibility the girl was Descended.<br />
Gregg searching his face nodded. “They’re human now right? They do die.”<br />
Hank’s eyes lingered on her face. He noticed the sharp contours and wondered if she too should be included in the case file of the serial that had been terrorizing New Los Angeles for the past year.<br />
That would make five now. Five bodies.<br />
“I don’t know that they’ll ever be human. But they’re here nevertheless.”<br />
<br />
Lilac and lemon.<br />
That’s what Sadie Fuller thought about under the stage lights. This personal mantra had been hers for as long as she could remember. Both an affirmation and source of strength, she’d repeat the phrase whenever she needed to focus.<br />
As she whirled in her dance routine, she let herself go free. Lilac and lemon.<br />
She smiled as sweat and stage makeup trailed down her neck. Forty five minutes earlier, she’d thought that a blue tint would bring out the olive in her eyes. Now she realized that bluish streaks were slightly embarrassing<br />
Modern dance was tricky. It didn’t have the meticulousness of ballet and wasn’t as hard physically, but still required a freshness of originality. Imagination was the key and if there was anything Sadie had in spades, it was a vivid inner world.<br />
When she was little, while all the other kids were watching tv or playing outside, she’d sit quietly for hours making up worlds and friends. Her guardian David would sit next to her and ask what the story was about. Sadie would then plunge into a detailed description of her friends and their world. She always had a mother in the story. And there were brothers and sisters. Their appearances would change based on the story but they were always there.<br />
Now she imagined a full house hanging on her every move. She spun and leapt. Could feel their eyes willing her not to stumble. She soaked it all in.<br />
Lilac and lemon.<br />
As Ravel’s Bolero came to a conclusion, she soared through one more twirl and flopped down on the edge of the stage. She heard one solitary clap in middle fifth row.<br />
“You know, one clap is more insulting than no claps at all.”<br />
From out of the darkness, a voice replied. “I’m trying to be a supportive friend. Maybe if you had the balls to dance for a real audience, I wouldn’t be here on a Saturday.”<br />
Sadie brushed a flyaway out of her eyes. “Eli, you’ve got nothing planned today or any day. Next time, be a dear and give me three claps so I know that you love me.”<br />
“Yeah I’ll get right on that.”<br />
She’d known Eli Fray for the past two years now. Having met at school, the two had become fast friends. And now more often than not, Eli was the dutiful friend to Sadie’s waif.<br />
She leaned back and closed her eyes but could still feel the heat of the stage lighting behind her eyelids. She stretched her back and kicked out her legs as Eli scooted in beside her.<br />
“What’s up?”<br />
He smiled sheepishly. “Oh nothing.”<br />
Sadie frowned. “Out with it. I always know when you’re brooding. You brood really good.”<br />
“I brood good? What does that even mean?”<br />
Sadie smiled.<br />
“Anyways, you going to the show this weekend?”<br />
“Yeah prolly. He promised me backstage passes.”<br />
“What did you have to promise him?”<br />
Sadie glanced at him. “I’m not going to give him any, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m just going to the concert.”<br />
Eli scoffed. “So you say.”<br />
“Damn, Eli! Am I a whore now?”<br />
Eli averted his eyes. “No.”<br />
“That’s right. Besides, I was going to ask you to come pick me up after. Just so he doesn’t have to drop me off. I don’t know if I want him to know where I live.”<br />
“Is he kind of creepy?”<br />
“No. I just don’t like unwanted visitations.”<br />
Eli laughed. “Unwanted visitations. You make him sound like a ghost or alien.”<br />
“Shut up. I’m just going to call a cab”<br />
Eli stretched his feet. “I’ll be out front waiting. Don’t be late.”<br />
She rolled over and opened her eyes to the stage lights. As the glare filled her vision, she inhaled deeply. Lilac and Lemon.http://liberrapublishing.blogspot.com/http://www.blogger.com/profile/00698289405015857450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202804743512332137.post-90197522098441394822017-09-27T19:59:00.000-07:002017-09-27T19:59:00.412-07:00“What are you doing here? In case I wasn’t clear, I don’t feel comfortable with you in my city.”<br />
Apollo sat back, his eyes nearly closed.<br />
“I would have thought being all-knowing would include security cameras.”<br />
Still nothing. Hank smiled and leaned closer. No signs of being beaten or roughed up at all. The officers had been gentle when they took him in. Hank’s long experience on the force made it easier to identify which suspects had been resisting prior to being cuffed. Nothing about Apollo indicated any of the telltales of taking a few kicks to the abdomen or ribs. He wore a clean track suit an tennis shoes.<br />
“So this was you then?” Apollo asked.<br />
“How do you mean?”<br />
The eyes that frowned at him were level, as if Apollo was more disappointed than angry. He glanced around the room.<br />
“All of this.”<br />
Hank nodded his head once. “I had them pick you up after rechecking the tape. Who are your friends Apollo?”<br />
Apollo turned his attention to the one way mirror on the wall. He stared at his own reflection, narrowing his eyes as if unfamiliar with his own face.<br />
Maybe he isn’t. Hank thought.<br />
“It is uncanny how close our faces are to before.”<br />
Or I could be wrong. Hank mused. “How do you mean?”<br />
“Our features are similar. Not exactly right, but pretty close. Isn’t that strange?”<br />
“Do you think that means something? Is somebody the great architect?”<br />
“Did somebody do this to us you mean? Zeus? No, this is beyond him.”<br />
“Maybe not Zeus.”<br />
“Some other? Open warfare would be the result.”<br />
“Perhaps that is why they stay hidden.”<br />
Apollo nodded but didn’t respond. Once again, his eyes drifted to the mirror on the wall. Does he know how many officers are looking back at him right now? The Descendants were a rare commodity. It wasn’t a stretch to assume that this was the first interrogation of one of them.<br />
“What were you doing at the Basement Apollo? Many of my colleagues are saying you were there to make sure you cleaned up the whole mess. Maybe to make sure you didn’t leave anything behind that might identify you. Did you kill Jesus Christ Apollo?”<br />
“Jesus Christ has killed more gods and goddesses than any other in history…and mortals too for that matter.”<br />
“So you shot him.”<br />
Apollo looked startled. “No, I didn’t shoot him! But I can’t really say I mourn for him either. He wasn’t part of my family.”<br />
“I would think you’re all kin now.”<br />
That wasn’t what Apollo wanted to hear. He turned his nose up as if smelling something spoiled. Hank kept finding himself studying his mannerisms and facial expressions. It was almost like a mask. Their faces were unfamiliar to even themselves, regardless of what the god purported. Every emotion was hard to read. It as as if Apollo’s eyes rested behind a hardened fleshy caricature of the human face. Hank found it repellent.<br />
“You didn’t answer me.”<br />
Apollo took a sip of coffee and stared down at the cup.<br />
“I was doing what you’re doing. Trying to figure it out.”<br />
“Processing the scene?”<br />
“Yes.”<br />
“Except you just told me you couldn’t care less who killed him. So-”<br />
“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to know! I might be next after all.”<br />
Hank paused. “We saw three maybe four other bodies moving about in there as well. They weren’t as dip-shitted as you and steered clear of the cameras. So, who were they?”<br />
“I have no idea.”<br />
“Really.”<br />
Apollo looked sharply at Hank, who had stood up and was leaning against the back wall. He placed his hands behind his back and stared at the god shackled to the desk.<br />
“Do you ever want to get out of that chair? We don’t necessarily have to run you through the usual indictment and litigation process. You’re not technically an American citizen. We can throw you in a hole Apollo, forever and ever. We put ourselves through hell all the time, what do you think we’ll do to you?”<br />
Apollo opened his eyes and was looking at him. For the first time, Hank caught a scent of fear from the god. But there was something else. A raw animosity. Apollo was a lion in a cage that was tired of being prodded. He could erupt into violence before this was over.<br />
“You think I’m lying? Go back an check your tape. I hid form them too. I had no idea who they were so I thought it best to stay hidden.”<br />
Hank knew he was telling the truth. The security monitor had shown no interaction between Apollo and the mysterious shadows. Still, he had hoped Apollo would provide a name or possible description of who they were. In his seat, the god had paused and appeared to be plotting his next move. Hank edged around the chair to make sure that the cuffs were still tightly secured around his hands. Satisfied, he sat back down.<br />
“I know the Tengu came to you.” Apollo said.<br />
For a second, Hank felt as weightless as if he’d fallen backward in his chair. His shock was unmistakable and Apollo picked up on it immediately. “Word get around Officer.”<br />
“Detective.” Hank whispered.<br />
“Whatever. Tell me, do you think the Maharishi-ten is without an agenda? How much did you sell your soul for to the Japanese goddess? Do your fellow officers know of your exploits with her?”<br />
Hank suppressed the urge to smash his fist into Apollo’s face. “Do tell.”<br />
Outside the door, rumblings could be heard. Hank knew what Apollo had said was now rippling through the precinct. He also knew that had been the god’s intent. Hank must be cautious now. How much did the god know? He knew of the Tengu and Japanese gangster goddess. He knew she had hired him and that they had met up. But beyond that, what else was there?<br />
“I don’t know what she wants with you nor do I care but just know, you can’t trust her.”<br />
“I don’t trust her.”<br />
“Her every move is designed to ensure the survival of her lotus.”<br />
At Apollo’s words, Hank felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Lotus?<br />
“And what is that? Lotus?”<br />
“I think you already know Officer. After all, she’s your friend.”<br />
“Tell me how you know she made contact with me.”<br />
“She hasn’t yet. Not really. She came to you through her Tengu courier.”<br />
“And?”<br />
“And the underground railroad runs deep Officer. This city is has many lines of information. But you’d have to leave the comfort of downtown in order to find it.”<br />
“You mean No Quarter. Are the Descendants living in No Quarter?”<br />
Apollo shook his head. “I couldn’t say.”<br />
Hank studied the god for a moment. “The Maharishi’s lotus?”<br />
Apollo sent his gazer back to the mirrored wall. He scowled at his reflection. “The lotus must stay in fixed positions. She can’t wander all through the night ensuring the prosperity of her enterprises.”<br />
“Her business. Is it drugs Apollo? Is she running narcotics?”<br />
Casually, Apollo sat back in his chair and laid his hands on the table, palms up. When he did not speak, Hank cleared his throat.<br />
“Well?”<br />
This time Apollo didn’t break his silence. Hank almost smiled. While not giving anything detailed, the god had revealed much about the Descendant population in the city. He would have to take another look in No Quarter. If there was anywhere in the city that a murder suspect would try to hide, it would be there. Too bad Hank had worked that slum for the past seven years and knew all the hiding places.<br />
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